Love in Resistance
by sheviking
Summary: Denmark, 1944: A young Danish woman and a British RAF pilot meet under dangerous circumstances when his plane is shot down over enemy territory. "I have to believe all of this happened for a reason, that I fell in love with him so I could have this opportunity to do good and hopefully make a difference. Edward called me brave, and that's what I'll be. For him."
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

 **Hey, everyone! I just got home from RARE16 in Edinburgh, which was fabulous.**

 **This is my entry for the Twilight Diversity contest, which ended last week. The premise: At least one of the main characters should be from outside the U.S.**

 **It's set in Denmark during the German WWII occupation and some of the story is inspired by real events.**

 **Thank you so much to my beta, Chayasara, for your constant guidance and insight. I always feel so safe with my words in your capable hands. Thank you to my pre-readers, the organizers of the contest, and the other participants.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **BPOV**

"I've brought you fresh supplies, Isabella!"

I watch as my younger sister waltzes in the door, unbidden, and places a wicker basket on my table. I barely look at it.

"Thank you, Rose." My voice is monotone.

She's beautiful. Her blonde hair is perfectly styled, and her makeup is flawless. In her new dress she looks just like Lana Turner. I'm shabby-looking next to the splendor that is she, but I don't mind. I wear my pleated skirt and simple white blouse with pride knowing that I bought them with my own money. Dusting some flour off my apron, I grab a cloth to cover the bread dough I was kneading. The silence between us is heavy, and it weighs on me, making me want to cry, scream, and yell, all at the same time. We used to be so close.

"I brought you real cocoa!" she exclaims suddenly, sitting down at my kitchen table as though this is still her home. "Oh, let's have some. Just like Mother used to make!"

I stare at her, doing my best to remember that this is not the sister I grew up with, the sweet, innocent girl who was always at my side. I hate her. I _should_ hate her. Her big blue eyes plead with me. She's so young, only nineteen.

 _Oh, Rose._

"All right."

Rose prattles on while I prepare the hot chocolate, my mouth watering at the smell as I mix dark, rich cocoa with sugar from her basket, stirring it with a little water before adding milk.

 _I'll throw the rest out when she leaves_

Only, I know I won't. I'm too afraid to.

"So will you come?"

I look up.

"What?"

"To my dinner! All of the officers will be there. Goodness, I'm so nervous, but Reichhardt says it will be perfect with me as the hostess. Isn't that sweet?"

"Sweet," I echo.

"So will you come?"

"I'm sorry, I have too much work."

She rolls her eyes at me.

"You're always working. You'll end up an old maid, you know," she teases, inspecting her red nails, the large diamond ring glinting in the light.

 _Better an old maid than what you are._

"Honestly, there are so many handsome officers in Reichhardt's company. He really wants you to come!"

I can't stop myself.

"Is that an order?"

She pales, clutching her hands in her lap.

"I know you don't like him," she whispers. "But I love him, and he loves me."

She's half right. She does love him. She loves him with starry-eyed, idol-worshipping naiveté. As for him, I don't know. I know that he wants her enough to have married her, but whether or not a man like that is capable of love goes beyond my comprehension.

My heart softens at the sight of her quivering lips, but my resolve doesn't.

"I know you do," I say, pouring the hot liquid into a cup for her.

It now smells sickly-sweet to me, but I make myself a cup anyway for show, and carry both to the table.

"It won't last forever, you know," she says. "The war will soon be over. I won't be here anymore. He's taking me home to his family then."

I merely nod my head. I don't know who will win the war or when it will happen, but I do know that regardless of the outcome, Rose is no longer welcome in this town. People are too afraid to say anything to her face, but they talk about her behind her back, calling her all sorts of names. I'm so thankful that Mother isn't here to see what her youngest has become. If only Father had been spared too. Pain grips my heart. The grief I feel for him is too new, too raw. It's only been three months.

"How can you love a man like him?" I ask, gripping the cup tightly between my hands. "How can you live in that house?"

Rose startles at the tone of my voice, the barely contained anger I can't conceal.

"You're living in Hannah's house!"

"They left. You know that."

"It's not like they went on vacation, Rose!" I shout. "They fled! She was your friend, too, and now you're living in her house, eating from her plates, sleeping in her parents' bed!"

The walls seem to echo my outburst in the silence that follows, and I know I've said too much. I miss Hannah, and I'm so glad she's safe. Our government acted wisely. They saw what happened in the countries around us and warned the Jewish citizens. Most of them were sailed to safety before the Nazis came for them.

"I should go," Rose whispers, standing slowly as she straightens the front of her dress.

I stand too, trying to will my hands to stop shaking. At the door she turns to face me again.

"This is the way it is now."

"I know," I murmur.

"Maybe it's better if you don't come to the dinner party," she adds.

I nod my head.

"But I'll come back next week."

It sounds like a question. I want to say no. I want to tell her I never want to see her again, but I don't, and it's not just because I'm afraid of her husband. Despite everything, I still love my sister, and I wonder if there is anything she could do that would change that.

"All right," I whisper. "I'll see you next week."

She smiles and the next thing I know, she's out the door, leaving me feeling weak and shaken in her wake.

I awaken to the sound of pounding on my kitchen door, and my heart jumps into my throat.

 _They're here! They've come for me now!_

There's no escape. Where would I run to? The pounding continues as I make my way downstairs, turning on the light in the kitchen. It's barely light outside.

I want to be brave, to face them head on and show no fear, but my voice trembles as I reach the door.

"W-Who is it?"

"Isabella, it's me. Open up. Hurry!"

Relief floods through me for a second as I recognize my cousin's voice, only to disappear as quickly as it came. I unlock the door with frantic movements, shivering against the night's cold outside.

"Michael! What's happened?"

He squints against the light behind me.

"Isabella, we need your help."

"We who?" I whisper, drawing my arms around my middle.

He seems to deliberate for a moment before meeting my eyes again.

"The Resistance."

"The-the Resistance?"

Feelings of pride as well as apprehension flood through me in equal measure. My cousin has always been brave, so I'm not at all surprised he'd be working against our invaders, but if they catch him . . .

"What do you need?"

His face relaxes with relief.

"Remember the plane crash two weeks ago a few counties over?"

"Of course."

"Well, there was a survivor, an English pilot. We have him now."

Michael draws a deep breath.

"We're getting him out of the country. But . . . it'll take some time, and . . . we need somewhere to hide him until then."

"Here?"

He nods.

"We don't think they'd come looking here, you see."

"Because of my sister," I whisper.

He spits on the ground.

"Yes," he admits. "But that's not the only reason. Your English is good, and you know about taking care of sick people."

"He's sick?"

"Nothing some good food and rest won't cure. His shoulder was dislocated, but we managed to put it right again."

He looks straight at me.

"I know what I'm asking here, Isabella. And I won't think any less of you if you say no."

If they catch him here, he'll die. As for me? I don't know. Jail, for certain, maybe even death for harboring their enemy. Their enemy. My friend.

"I'll do it."

"Thank you. We'll get him out as soon as we can. Hopefully, we'll get word to London tomorrow and go from there."

"So, where is he?"

Michael lifts his right arm and points his thumb over his shoulder.

"He's here now?"

"In the back of the truck."

"Well, bring him inside! Jesus, Michael, what if a patrol had stopped you?"

"I think they're all otherwise occupied down at the train station tonight," he chuckles.

"Oh, God. I don't want to know."

"Good. The less you know, the better. I'll go get him."

He hesitates.

"Could you turn around while we carry him in?"

"Why?"

"It's better if you don't know who else is involved. It's not that I don't trust you, but it's better—

just in case."

He's right. If I get caught, they'll interrogate me.

"But what about you?" I whisper. "I know you're involved."

"I don't have children. And I don't plan on being taken alive if it comes to that."

He pulls his jacket aside, showing me the end of a gun sticking out of his pants.

"Might even be able to take a few of them with me," he adds with a grin.

"Don't joke about that," I scold. "Your parents would be devastated. _I_ would be devastated."

"I'll be careful. Now, where should we put him?"

"Upstairs."

Not in Rose's old room. I haven't been able to go in there since the night Father died. I've moved into my parents' room, but it has the largest bed, so it should go to the pilot.

"My parents' bedroom."

"All right."

I turn my back to the door, and after a few minutes, I hear some commotion behind me, followed by retreating footsteps. After a little while, I sense a few people behind me again and then feel Michael's hand on my shoulder. I turn around to face him.

"Thank you, Isabella," he says sincerely. "I promise, we'll hurry."

"Go now. And be careful, please."

He takes my hand and holds it for a second. "You too."

After he leaves, I lock the door behind him, listening as the truck drives away. My eyes drift to the stairs. There's a stranger in my bed right now. How surreal.

I walk upstairs, tiptoeing into the darkened room. The first thing I notice is a pair of large muddy boots, now staining my clean sheets, and a pair of long legs encased in torn, brown pants. He's wearing a uniform jacket, also dirty and torn. There's a gun strapped to his side, and his left arm is in a sling. His eyes are closed, and he's breathing regularly, snoring a little. I wonder how long he was out there before the Resistance found him. His cheeks look a bit hollow even underneath the heavy scruff on his face. He's young. In his mid-twenties, like me perhaps?

I certainly won't get any more sleep tonight, so I decide to make the most of it. He'll be hungry when he wakes up, and he'll need to be bathed and changed into fresh clothes. Some of his scrapes and scratches look like they could use a good cleaning. Back in the kitchen, I put some water on to boil and start assembling a big breakfast. Then I head back upstairs and take a seat next to the bed, staring at the wounded pilot. I'll have to hide him somewhere else once he's a little better. The barn perhaps? No one would think to look there, surely.

As the sun rises, he begins to stir, mumbling in his sleep. Suddenly, he starts awake, sitting up on the bed, his hand immediately gripping his gun as his eyes dart around the room. He notices me, staring at me with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Who are you?" he demands. "Where am I?"  
"I'm . . ." I draw a deep breath, trying to find the right words. It's been a while since I spoke English. "I'm Isabella. You're safe here."

"Here? Where?"

"This is my house. I'm on your side. I swear."

His hand unclenches the gun, and he lets out a shuddering exhalation.

"I don't remember being brought here."

"They, uh, they brought you here a few hours ago. You were . . ."

I don't remember the right word.

"Unconscious?" He says.

I smile, nodding.

"Yes, unconscious. I'm to keep you unfound until they can get you out."

"Unfound?" His lips curve upward. "Hidden."

"Hidden. I'm sorry, my English is not . . ."

I shrug, feeling self-conscious, and not just because of my language skills. He's staring at me. I lower my eyes and realize I'm wearing only my nightdress, and my bare arms are showing as well as a good part of my upper chest.

"Don't apologize," he says softly. "I'm being terribly rude."

I look up at him. His eyes are on my face now, thankfully. They're nice eyes. Green.

"I'm Lieutenant Edward Masen, Royal Air Force."

"Isabella Svane, school teacher," I reply. "I used to be, at least."

He nods, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Lie down," I coax. "I'll get breakfast. You're hungry?"

"Starving."

"I can do something about that," I say standing up. "Stay here."

When I come back up carrying a heavy tray, he's moving around the bed, by the looks of it trying to remove his boots using his good arm.

"I'll help."

I place the tray on the bedside table and carefully unlace his boots before pulling them off, one at a time. Lieutenant Masen grimaces.

"You shouldn't have to do that. I . . . Christ, I smell. And I made a mess on your bed."

"It's all right."

I fluff the pillows up against the headboard.

"Sit back."

I place the tray on his lap, startled at the speed with which he starts shoving food into his mouth, using both of his large hands. He stops mid-bite, looking up at me before swallowing.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, color spreading across his cheeks. "It wasn't easy finding food out there."

"How long?"

"Nearly two weeks, hiding by day, running at night. I . . . I was sure I'd be caught, killed, made an example of . . . I'd never go home again."

He pauses, his eyes glinting with moisture before he looks down, clearing his throat.

"You're safe now," I whisper, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to touch his hand. "I'll take care of you."

He nods, still not meeting my eyes. I understand that he's embarrassed.

"I'll be right back," I say, leaving the room so he can compose himself.

In the kitchen, I look through Rose's basket and smile as I come across a bag of tea. Armed with a pot, as well as a mug, milk, and sugar I go back upstairs. Lieutenant Masen is eating again, more slowly, and gives me a quick glance as I take my seat next to the bed. I pour him a mug.

"Do you use milk and sugar?"

"Is that real tea? Yes, please!"

He takes a large sip and I'm happy I added plenty of milk so he doesn't burn his mouth.

"My God," he groans. "I didn't think you could get hold of this anymore."

He's right. Tea, coffee, sugar, cocoa and other imported goods are now heavily rationed because of the war and have been since it broke out. Apparently, that doesn't apply to Rose and her husband.

"Thank you so much," he says, smiling at me. "It's like a taste of home before the world went to shit."

 _Goodness._

"Jesus," he whispers, shaking his head. "I apologize. It's been a long time since I've . . . been around a lady. Please, don't tell your husband. I meant no disrespect, I swear."

"I, uh, I'm not married."

"Oh, I just assumed."

He sweeps his hand through the air, looking around the bedroom.

"This was my parents' room. I use it now."

"Are they . . ."

"They've passed," I whisper.

"I'm sorry."

I nod my head in thanks.

"You should eat before it gets cold. I'll come up to get the tray when you've finished," I tell him, rising from the chair.

"You don't have to go," he says quickly. "Have I offended you?"

"No, I need to start the day. It's my farm now, and there's work to be done, but I'll be back in a little while."

"All right."

I leave him with his breakfast and tea and dress in my work clothes before heading out. The animals get fed and tended to before I take my breakfast. That was how my parents did it, and that's how I do it. An hour later, I'm back in the kitchen, carrying several bottles of fresh milk and half a dozen eggs. Things may be rationed now, but I'll never starve with such good animals in my care.

After I've washed the smell of the stable off me, I have a quick meal and head back upstairs. Lieutenant Masen sits up straight at the sight of me, a look of distress in his eyes.

"I need the, uh, the outhouse."

"I'm so sorry," I exclaim, rushing to his side to help him out of bed.

He leans heavily on me, but I'm stronger than I look, and we make it to the hallway easily enough.

"It's just here. I have an indoor bathroom," I tell him, unable to keep the pride out of my voice.

"That certainly makes things easier," he chuckles. "I can manage from here. Thank you."

"There's a new toothbrush you can use," I add before I leave him.

While he's occupied, I quickly change the muddy sheet and open the window to let some fresh air in. Looking out over my property, I'm entirely grateful for its somewhat remote location. The main road is more than a kilometer away, at the end of the dirt road, and I can easily see if someone is coming this way. We should be safe out here.

I turn when Lt. Masen comes back into the bedroom, noticing that he's washed his hands and face as well as removed his jacket. His gun is still strapped to his side. He looks as though he's ready to keel over, his body and mind exhausted after his ordeal, and I offer him my shoulder as I help him back into bed.

"Just rest," I tell him, reaching for the tray.

I startle a little when he grabs my hand, and he loosens his hold immediately, stroking it gently instead. His touch creates a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he whispers, watching me intently. "Helping me."

"Anyone would."

"No, they wouldn't."

"It's what's right to do. It's . . . it's what my father would have done."

He nods, leaning back as he slowly releases my hand. I take the tray and walk back downstairs to clean up. I know what I'm doing is incredibly dangerous, but I don't regret it. My parents would be proud of me, of that I'm certain.

I check on Lt. Masen several times throughout the day, each time smiling at the sight of his sleeping form and relaxed facial features. I can't imagine what it must have been like for him out there all alone, never knowing if the next person he meets is an enemy or ally. He must have been so scared. Once dinner is in the oven, I make my way back upstairs with hot water, soap, towels, and some bandages. He's awake this time, and I help him to the bathroom before looking through my parents' closets for something for him to wear. He's tall, just as my father was, so everything should fit quite well. Once he's situated on the bed again I carry the basin over to the nightstand.

"You, uh, need cleaning?"

"I'd say that's an understatement," he chuckles.

I observe him for a moment, trying not to let him see how nervous I am.

"You should . . . remove your shirt."

He glances at me for a moment.

"All right."

He's able to unbutton it one-handed, but I have to help him take off the shirt, as well as the sling and the gun holster before his undershirt follows. The only thing he keeps on is a leather cord with two discs on it, one red and one green, which rest against the middle of his chest. I swallow hard at the sight of him, quickly turning to the basin where I wring out a rag. He closes his eyes as I begin sweeping it across his face and neck, hesitating for a second before I wash his chest, being mindful of his wounded shoulder.

"Can you sit up?"

I wash his back and under his arms.

"I really do apologize for the way I smell," he says.

"I work in the stable every day."

He lets out a laugh.

"Am I that bad?"

His eyes sparkle with mirth as I look up at him, and I realize how close we're sitting.

"No, I . . . no," I whisper, caught in his gaze.

The look in his eyes changes slowly as his breathing increases. Suddenly, he leans forward, pressing his lips to mine. For a few seconds we're frozen like that. Then, Lt. Masen exhales, bringing his hand up to cup my cheek and kissing me again. My heart sputters in my chest, and I remember how to breathe again. We shouldn't be doing this. A soft groan escapes him as he moves his hand down my neck and strokes my hair before settling it on my lower back where he uses it to pull me closer, pressing me against his naked chest. He feels good—warm and solid and alive. It's been so long since I've felt anything besides grief and worry. Tilting my head, I respond to the gentle nudges of his lips and part mine, letting out an involuntary sigh at the feel of his tongue caressing mine. Tentatively, I kiss him back, dropping the rag in my hands and running them up his arms, noticing how firm and strong they are, how smooth his skin is. I've never touched a man before, and I tremble when he moves his hand from my waist, bringing it up to cup my breast. Gasping, I pull back, breaking the kiss. We shouldn't be doing this. His eyes are large and dark and confused as we stare at each other for a second before I quickly scramble off the bed, grabbing the basin.

"Isabella—"

"Dinner is almost ready," I mumble, making a beeline for the hallway.

"I'm sorry!" he calls out. "Please, I didn't—"

Right outside the door, I lean against the wall, trying to catch by breath while I listen to Lt. Masen scold himself, using curse words I've never heard before. Why did I let him kiss me?

 _Why did I stop him?_

I still taste him on my lips, on my breath. I liked it, even his wandering hand. Exhaling, I make it downstairs to the kitchen, shaking my head at my own foolishness. I've known this man for less than a day, and he'll be gone soon.

After I've put together a dinner tray, I walk back upstairs, feeling weak and lightheaded. He's sitting up in bed, and I place the tray on the nightstand while I avoid looking directly at him. The moment it's out of my hands, I sense him reaching for me, and I recoil quickly.

"Please, I won't hurt you." He rushes out his words, pulling back.

I finally look at him, seeing nothing threatening or malicious in his expression.

"I'd never . . ." he trails off.

"I-I know."

I take a seat on the bed, making sure to keep a bit of distance between us.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

He does look sorry, but he also looks like he wants to kiss me again.

"I didn't mean to . . . to take advantage. You're so beautiful and kind, and . . . I never thought I'd . . . There, um . . ."

He clears his throat.

"There weren't any women at the base, you see. It's been so long since I even saw a girl, a woman, up close. And then you touched me, and I wanted . . . "

He looks down, shaking his head.

"I . . . I do know about loneliness," I whisper. "Wanting . . . closeness."

He raises his head.

"You aren't angry with me?"

"No. You, uh, surprised me."

My cheeks grow warm.

"I shouldn't have . . . pawed at you like that," he says, moving a bit closer.

I don't know that expression, but I guess he's referring to how he touched me during the kiss. I glance at him, feeling shy.

"I've never . . ."

He moves even closer, gently placing his hand on top of mine.

"So, you're not engaged?"

I shake my head, feeling myself getting lost in his eyes again.

"You have a, uh, a steady fellow?"

"No."

"How?"

"How?"

"You're so sweet . . . brave too . . . kind and beautiful. Why don't you have a fellow?"

"My father died three months ago," I whisper. "My mother the year before that. When she became ill, I gave my resignation and moved back home to take care of her. There was no time for socializing."

"I'm so sorry," he says softly, turning my hand to lace our fingers together.

I nod my head, enjoying the feel of him so close to me.

"Before that I was in school, and no one ever seemed to notice me much when my sister Rose was next to me."

I'm not jealous of Rose, and I know she never meant to take the spotlight, so to speak. People can't help but feel drawn to her vivaciousness and beauty.

"She's the beautiful one," I finish, giving Lt. Masen a quick smile.

"I have trouble believing that."

"You've never even seen her."

"No," he murmurs, leaning in to run the tip of his nose up my neck, "but I've seen _you_."

I shiver in response when he kisses underneath my ear and across my jaw toward my mouth.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispers.

"Yes."

He pulls back immediately.

"But only because I want you to eat your dinner," I add, giving him a smile.

He breaks into a grin, giving me a salute.

"Yes, ma'am."

I stand and lift the tray toward him.

"Are you not eating?" he asks, a look of concern on his handsome face.

"Yes. If you're well enough . . . would you like to join me in the kitchen?"

"I'd like that. I feel much better already."

"Give me a minute." I tilt my head toward the pile on the chair "There's some clothes there you can wear if you want."

"Thank you."

Downstairs, I set up dinner for two and then head back up where I help him button his shirt and pants, doing my best not to blush. He leans a bit on my arm on the way down the stairs, but he's definitely getting his strength back.

He sits in my father's chair, and I take my seat across from him, folding my hands.

"Will you say the, uh, the table prayer?" I ask, unable to remember the English term.

"Table prayer?"

"Thanking God before we eat."

"Saying grace. I'll admit it's been a while." He clears his throat. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."

"Amen."

I smile at him and quickly stand to serve him.

"You don't have to," he says, as I start loading food onto his plate.

"I don't mind - truly."

I can tell that he's hungry, but he does his best to eat slowly in front of me, complimenting everything he tastes. We don't talk very much, but that's all right. I'd almost gotten used to eating alone. This is better.

"That was amazing." He sighs, patting his flat stomach. "I can't remember the last time I had a meal like that."

"Thank you. My mother taught me how to cook."

He nods, fidgeting a bit.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nah, I took up smoking when I joined, and I ran out of cigarettes days ago. After a delicious meal, well . . . "

"I have some. You're welcome to them."

His face lights up.

"No kidding."

I go to one of the cupboards, where I keep most of the things Rose brings me, retrieving the packet. Why she chose to include it, I don't know. Perhaps she thought I'd give it to Michael or his father.

"Here," I say, placing it in front of him.

He frowns.

"Where did you get these?" He looks up at me, eyes narrowed. "They're German."

"I know."

"Then how? I know you aren't working for them."  
"No, of course not. I would never . . ."

Sighing, I take my seat again, watching as he fidgets with the packet, spinning it on the table.

"My sister, Rose, brought me them."

"The supposedly beautiful sister?" he asks, looking a lot less severe.

I laugh through my nose.

"Yes, that's the one. I don't ask her, but she keeps bringing me things."

"Why?"

"I don't know. She feels guilty, I think."

"For what?"

I look at him, drawing a deep breath.

"She's . . . married . . . to one of them—an officer. She's—"

"A traitor," he interrupts.

"A naïve, young girl who falls in love too easily!" I exclaim, standing up. "He . . . seduced her! With gifts, a charming smile, and promises of a fairytale life together. He stole her away from her family! My sister is not a bad person!"

Angrily, I dash away hot tears and grab the nearest plates, wanting to throw them across the room. Naturally, I don't. I settle for banging them around as I start doing the dishes, my back turned to him. I feel him approach me, carrying his own plate and setting it down next to the sink.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I shouldn't have said that."

He lifts his hand, hesitates, and then places it on my shoulder.

"I hate what she's done," I whisper. "But I can't hate her."

I turn my head to look at Lt. Masen.

"It killed our father . . . when she married him. I found him the next morning in Rose's room, kneeling over her bed, cold and pale. And still . . . I can't hate her—even though I probably should. But she didn't do this to hurt anyone. She doesn't share his beliefs. She just fell in love."

I shrug my shoulders helplessly, feeling my eyes well up again. He moves closer, brushing away my tears before palming my cheek.

"Lieutenant Masen—"

"Edward. I think we're a bit past formality."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"What were you going to say?"

I look up at him.

"I don't know. Just your name, I think."

He smiles, stroking my cheek.

"Let me help you with the dishes."

"Thank you."

We work next to each other. I wash and he dries as well as he can using just one hand, and it doesn't take long before we're done.

"I have to go take care of the animals," I say, drying my hands.

"May I come with you?"

I nod my head, showing him outside. He looks around at the buildings.

"This is much bigger than I thought. How do you manage it all?"

"I just have a few animals now. The fields are all rented out to my family. Look."

I point my finger toward a faint light in the distance.

"My father's brother's family lives there. You've met my cousin Michael."

"Yes, of course. I guess bravery is a family trait."

"We're just doing what's right. Just like you are."

"What's that building?" he asks, nodding his head toward the one with a little light in its windows.

"The barn. I, uh, I actually left the light on for you."

"For me?"

"I had planned on hiding you there, now that you're already better, but . . . "

"But?" he asks softly.

"I like having you in the house with me," I admit. "I don't think it's that much safer in the barn, but if you'd prefer it—"

"I'd like to be in the house with you," he says immediately. "I, uh, I'd rather not be alone."

"Me either."

He smiles, drawing a deep breath.

"It's peaceful out here."

"It is. I can't imagine living in the city again. I mean, I was happy being a teacher, but this is home."

I turn to him.

"Where is home for you?"

"Ketterington in Northamptonshire, I suppose."

"You suppose?"  
"I was born and raised there. But my folks are gone now. Been on my own since I was seventeen."

"I'm so sorry."

He shrugs, but accepts my hand when I reach for his.

"What did you do . . . you know, before the world turned to . . . well, what you said earlier?"

He laughs, giving my hand a squeeze.

"I have terrible language."

"It's all right."

"I worked in a boot factory," he says, grinning at me. "Not exactly glamorous work, but it paid the bills. When the war broke out, I enlisted at RAF Grafton Underwood, just a few kilometers outside town, and I started wearing the boots instead of making them."

He sighs, reaching into his pocket and fishing out the cigarettes.

"I shouldn't take anything of theirs, but . . ."

"You already drank the tea, so . . ."

He chuckles, opening the pack.

"Fair point. Do you smoke?"

"Sometimes, just at parties and such."

"Parties, eh? Tell me about that."

He lights a cigarette and hands it to me before getting one of his own going. I take a careful drag.

"The parties? There isn't that much to tell. It was before the war, of course. I was still in school."

"Did you dance?"

"When someone asked me to."

"I can't imagine you as a wallflower."

"A what?"

"Someone who stands by the wall while everyone else is dancing," he explains.

"Oh." I smile. "Well, I suppose I did dance quite a bit."

"I knew it." He grins at me. "I would have asked you for every dance."

I look down to hide my blush.

"And what about you? Any good parties in Kettering?"

He snorts.

"I wouldn't know."

"Why not?"

"I was something of a pipsqueak back then. The RAF made a man out of me." He laughs, flexing his bicep.

"You were small?"

"Tall but skinny. Awkward. Pimply, too."

"I can't imagine."

"A lot can happen in four years."

I sigh.

"It certainly can. It's been almost four years to the day since they came here. Sometimes, I wonder if this war will ever end."

Edward stubs out his cigarette and puts his arm around me.

"It will end one day," he says. "We'll win."

"How do you know?"

"We're better than them."

I look up at him, and he shoots me a cocky grin. I can't help but smile in return.

"I believe you."

"Good." He gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Show me these animals of yours. I've never been on a real farm before. Put me to work."

Now it's my turn to grin.

"We have two cows that need milking, a job for those wandering hands of yours."

Edward's mouth drops open, and his ears turn red. He's still laughing when I lead him into the stable to take care of things before calling it a day. Certainly the strangest day I've ever had, but in some ways also the most wonderful.

Before bed, I take a bath and wash my hair. Most women have shoulder-length hair now, but I've kept mine unfashionably long. During the day I either braid it or pin it, but at night when I let it out, it comes all the way down to my lower back. I spend a long time combing it out until it's almost dry, thinking of when Rose and I used to do each other's hair and how different everything is now. She's a married woman, and I'm her spinster sister who's harboring a sworn enemy of her husband.

I look in on Edward, who's already in bed, sitting up against the headboard.

"Do you need anything?" I ask, doing my best to keep my eyes on his face and not his naked chest.

He holds out his hand.

"Yes."

I approach him slowly, taking his hand in mine, letting him pull me down so I'm sitting on the edge of the bed.

"W-what do you need?"

"You," he whispers. "I need you."

"Oh."

He runs his hand down the length of my hair, watching me. His eyes appear dark in the dimly lit room, and the look in them makes me shiver.

"I know this is . . . completely inappropriate," he murmurs. "I shouldn't . . . and you deserve . . ."

He draws a ragged breath, cradling the back of my neck.

"But all I can think about is kissing you again."

He leans forward, applying gentle pressure to tilt my head before capturing my lips with his. I don't fight his advances. I want this too. His kisses make me feel lightheaded, and before I know it, I'm on my back with him hovering above me.

"Be . . . be careful with your shoulder," I gasp, as his lips trail down my neck, nipping at my sensitive skin.

"Believe me," he pants, "I don't feel any pain right now."

He kisses my mouth again, moaning as I grant him access to mine.

"Stay with me tonight," he pleads, gazing into my eyes.

"W-what will happen?" I stutter, my heart fluttering with nerves.

He caresses my face with a gentle touch, seemingly fascinated by my features.

"You decide. I . . . I don't want you to regret it. We can do whatever you like. I already know I'll like it."

His grin has a hint of shyness to it.

"I don't know. I haven't done . . . anything," I confess.

"Neither have I."

I stare at him, incredulous. He chuckles, hiding his face for a moment.

"It's . . . embarrassing . . . for a lad, you see. Being . . . inexperienced."

"I never would have guessed that you hadn't—"

"It wasn't for lack of trying on my part." He laughs softly. "But . . . pipsqueak, remember?"

"But surely you had . . . opportunities after you became a pilot?" I ask, feeling embarrassed about being so candid. "You're handsome and . . . well, the uniform."

"You like my uniform, eh?" he teases, dipping to run the tip of his nose from my chest to my jaw, inhaling the scent of my soap.

My face is crimson by the time he looks at me again.

"There were some women that you could, er, visit with . . . whenever we had a break from training. But it wasn't . . . it, uh, it cost money to . . ."

"Oh!"

 _My goodness!_

"Some of my friends went," he says. "But I didn't want . . . I mean, I _wanted_ , but . . . not like that."

He gives me a shy look.

"I'd like to kiss you and . . . maybe touch you, if you'll let me?"

I'm too nervous to speak, so I nod my head, conscious of the way my heart is hammering in my chest.

"Don't be afraid," he whispers against my lips.

"I'm not."

"Can I take this off?" He touches the knot holding my bathrobe closed.

"Yes."

Without the sling, he's a lot more dexterous, and it takes less than a minute before his eyes are roaming over me, dressed only in a white, sleeveless nightgown.

"You're so beautiful."

He stretches out next to me, pushing down the covers with his feet.

I let out a squeak and cover my eyes. He's naked!

"Oh my God," I whisper.

He laughs, taking my hands away from my eyes.

"I'm sorry. Living with men for so long . . . you don't really bother much with modesty. And you didn't provide me with any clean underwear."

"I-I forgot. I didn't realize . . . I feel stupid."

"Hey," he says softly, kissing the backs of my hands, "you are not. I'm a brute, Isabella. You deserve so much better than this."

Disappointment stabs at me.

"Does that mean you don't want to anymore?"

He chuckles.

"Hell, no. I just want you to know that in a different time and place, I would have courted you properly, been your steady fellow, and brought you flowers before ever daring to steal a kiss."

"That . . . would have been lovely."

But dreams like that are pointless. This is how the world is now, as Rose said, and maybe this is the only night I'll ever have with Edward. They could come for him tomorrow, and even if that doesn't happen, Michael and the Resistance are working on getting him out of the country. Regardless, he'll be gone soon. The thought makes me sadder than I care to admit to myself. Instead of dwelling on what will never be, I decide to simply enjoy this night.

"Can I touch you too?" I whisper.

"You never have to ask."

I lower my eyes to his body, taking him in. He bathed earlier and dressed his scrapes and cuts himself, and I can tell he's lost some weight, but to my eyes, he's perfect. He sighs as I run my hand across his chest, feeling the slight tickle of hair there before I trace the planes of his abdomen. I hesitate when I reach his navel, moving my hand back and forth instead of going lower.

"Please," Edward exhales, tangling his hand in my hair. "Kiss me."

He lifts my face up, crashing his lips against mine in a searing kiss. I feel his other hand on mine, nudging it lower until I'm where he needs me. In gasped whispers, he teaches me how to touch him, to stroke him, until he cries out, spilling his seed on our joined hands. The whole thing was over so quickly, a fact that seems to embarrass him afterward though I don't fully understand why.

"It's . . . been a while," he says after he's caught his breath and cleaned off our hands. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head, hoping he knows I don't care about that. Then, another thing occurs to me.

"You . . . do this to yourself?"

He looks at me, surprised.

"Well, yes. I gather most men do if . . . if they don't have, er, intercourse."

"Oh. I had no notion."

He rolls toward me, gathering me into his embrace.

"That's because you're a sweet, inexperienced girl. And here I am corrupting you."

Oddly, he looks both embarrassed and proud of the fact. Men are strange.

"I liked it," I whisper. "Touching you, making you . . . feel."

"I liked it too. And now I want to make you feel."

"L-like you? Can women really . . .?"

"I think so. I'd certainly enjoy finding out."

He smiles at me, questioning me with his eyes.

"All right."

His kisses are slower now, more restrained, and I relax into the mattress enjoying his lips on mine. He strokes my bare arms, my hair, and my back. It feels so wonderful to be touched. I'm not as surprised this time when he makes a pass over my chest, palming my breast before caressing my stomach and then moving back to my hair. He does this several times before I feel him gently tugging on the straps of my nightgown, pulling them down until I'm exposed to him.

"God, you're perfect," he whispers, gently caressing me. "So soft."

He kisses me again, using his fingers to tease my nipples into hard peaks before lowering his head to my chest. I gasp when I feel his mouth on me and then his tongue. My body starts to move on its own, and I can't stop myself from rubbing my thighs together, trying to quell the strange sensation between my legs. I feel his hand on my leg, slowly sliding my nightgown up.

"I want to touch you," he moans.

"Yes. Yes, please."

Running my fingers through his short hair, I let him nudge my legs open and hold onto his shoulders as his fingers slide into my underwear, gently exploring me. His touches are a little fumbling at first, but oh, so good.

"Edward!" I cry out, unable to keep quiet as he focuses on one particular spot.

"Do you like it?"

His voice is hoarse.

"Yes, yes."

He kisses me again, stroking my tongue with his, and then I feel one of his fingers sliding into me, quickly followed by another.

"Fuck," he groans. "You feel so good. God, I want to . . ."

It feels so good I can hardly stand it. Everything. His fingers and how they touch me, his lips on my breasts, his breath on my skin. It builds and builds until it bursts free, and I feel myself clenching around his fingers, calling out words I'm too distracted to even notice. I'm barely aware of Edward pushing my nightgown and underwear down until he lifts my legs to get them all the way off. Now I'm as naked as he is. He crawls up my body, gathering me into his arms, pressing us together. I feel weakened and emotional after so much sensation and can't help but tear up.

"I-I won't," he stutters, palming my cheek. "I just want to feel you."

I nod my head, sniffing a little before I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in the crook of his neck. I calm at the sound of his breathing and the gentle way he strokes my naked back. I feel safe with him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm not upset. It was just . . . a lot."

"Did you like it?"

I nod against him. He lets out a long breath.

"So did I. I never imagined . . . but women definitely can too."

I laugh, nodding again. After a little while, I feel him pulling the covers up around us. I should put my nightgown back on, but I'm too tired to move.

" _Isabella . . ."_

 _Warm hands roam across my body, and lips caress my neck and ear as I feel something hard pressed against my backside._

" _I want you . . ."_

I blush, returning my attention to the eggs I'm frying and not on what happened last night when Edward woke me up after just a few hours of sleep. The surrounding darkness and the veil of sleep around me made me forget my inhibitions, and I arched into his touches like a cat in the sun. I can almost still feel him between my legs, sliding against my wetness from behind, so close to being inside me. I wanted him to in that moment, to take me completely. Instead, he stroked me with his fingers while he thrust between my inner thighs, finishing on me and not in me. In the light of day, I'm happy about that fact, that he cares enough not to get me with child.

"Good morning."

I look up, giving Edward a shy smile.

"How long ago have you been up?" he asks.

"Hours," I whisper. "I've already been to the stables."

He reaches out to touch my cheek, making me look up at him.

"Last night. Did I . . . was it . . . ?"

"It was perfect."

He relaxes visibly, his shoulders dropping several centimeters.

"Perfect, huh?" He grins, leaning down to kiss me. "I can live with perfect."

I serve both of us breakfast, smiling the whole time.

"What are you doing today?" he asks in between bites.

"I should go into town. That's what I'd normally do on a Saturday."

He nods.

"Good idea. Keep to your regular routine."

"Exactly."

"Is there anything you need me to do? I'd like to be helpful if I can."

He doesn't have his sling on anymore and is looking well-rested.

"You should stay inside just in case someone comes by," I caution. "But . . . the, uh, the thing where the water comes out of . . ."

"The faucet?"

"Yes, thank you. The faucet in the bathroom is dripping. Do you know how to repair that? I keep meaning to ask Michael for his help, but I forget. "

"Say no more. I'm your man."

I stare at him as he drinks his tea, talking about nothing in particular while he smiles at me. In another life, he could have been my man.

I ride my bicycle into town just before noon, enjoying the sun and the gentle breeze. On days like these, it's easy to forget there's a war going on. Of course, I'm reminded of the fact the moment I enter town and see the banners everywhere: Red and white with a black menacing symbol in the middle, like a spider that's here to ensnare us and kill us slowly. I get some necessities at the store, like brown thread to mend the tears in Edward's uniform, and share pleasantries with a few people, doing my best to act like it's a normal day before heading back to the town hall where I had parked my bicycle.

I hear them before I see them, calling out to me in German. I pretend not to hear them and walk faster.

"Where are you going?" one of them asks, blocking my path.

"Just home. Please let me pass."

"What's your name?" the other one asks, moving closer to me. "Come have lunch with us."

"No, thank you. I have to get home."

"Where do you live? We'll drive you."

I look at the two of them in their green uniforms with that ugly symbol on their armband. Why any girl would go with them is a mystery to me.

"No, let me pass," I say with a bit more force, trying to push past them.

"Now, now," the first one scolds, putting his hands on me to hold me back. "Perhaps we'll just take you to the barracks with us."

"No!"

I stomp on the foot of the one who's holding me and push the other one away, using all of my strength. It gives me a thrill when I see him stumble. I may be small, but I'm strong. I crouch slightly as they approach me again, ready to fight if I must.

"Soldiers!"

They stop immediately, recognizing a voice of authority just like a dog recognizes its master.

"Commandant!" they say, saluting him.

"I'll ask you to kindly unhand my sister-in-law."

I manage to get out from between them, standing face to face with my sister's husband. He looks me over, a smirk in place, and I realize he didn't come to my rescue out of concern. This is a demonstration of power. The soldiers are falling over themselves apologizing—not to me, but to their commandant. He dismisses them with a wave, and they quickly walk off.

"Now, what was all that about?" Reichhardt asks.

"I don't know," I mumble, gathering my jacket around me tightly. "I was just going home."

"Rose tells me you can't come to her dinner. That's rather disappointing, I must say."

"I-I have too much work."

"It really is too big of a place for a lone woman," he says. "Perhaps I should send a few men to help you out. We are family, after all."

His smile chills me like ice.

"No, thank you," I reply as courteously as I can. "My father's family helps me. Besides, I'm sure your men have more important tasks to attend to . . . when they aren't accosting women in the street."

He narrows his eyes at me.

"I will have a talk with them about that. There's no need for them to do that. After all, there are plenty of women here who are happy to keep them company."

 _Unfortunately._

"Yes, plenty for them to do," he continues. "We're close to finding out who's been blowing up our trains." He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. "How silly to think it would make any sort of difference in the grand scheme of things. It speaks volumes about this peasant country, although . . ."

He moves closer to me, lifting up my chin.

"There are treasures here to be sure."

It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to spit in his face.

"You're almost as pretty as your sister," he muses. "Shame about the eyes, though."

I smile at him.

"They're my father's eyes. He may be gone, but he left the farm to _me_ , so I'll manage it as I see fit, thank you very much."

He releases me with a scowl.

"Give my regards to my sister," I say over my shoulder before walking away as calmly as I can.

I ride home like the devil is chasing me, completely out of breath by the time I reach the farm. Edward finds me in the kitchen, peeling potatoes as though my life depended on it.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"I hate him!"

"Who?"

"My sister's husband."

"Oh, did you see him?"

I throw a potato into the pot with a lot more force than necessary, and water splashes onto the kitchen counter.

"Yes. He stopped two of his men from . . . from . . . God, I hate them all so much!"

Edward takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face him.

"What happened?"

His face is a cloud of emotion, concern and anger mixed together.

"Did they touch you?" he demands.

My anger deflates and I lean on his chest.

"I'm all right. I'm sure one of them will have a sore toe, at least, from where I stomped on him."

"You fought them?"

"Of course I did."

"Of course you did," he says, wrapping his arms around me. "You brave girl."

He pulls back, looking me over.

"What happened with your sister's husband? He didn't touch you, right?"

I scoff.

"Only to make me look up at him so he could insult my eyes."

"Your eyes?"

"They're brown."

"So I noticed," he replies with a smile. "Beautiful, too."

"So are yours."

He caresses my cheek.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

I nod my head.

"I know it isn't Christian to feel hatred, but . . . I do, Edward. I really do hate them. My best friend Hannah is Jewish and she had to flee with her family because of them. And I feel as though I've lost Rose too. I just want them to go away."

"I'll fight them for you. Just get me in a plane again."

"Is that what you'll do when you go back home?"

"Of course," he answers immediately. "It's . . . easy to forget it here with you, but . . . the fight's not over."

"I'm scared," I whisper. "Even if Michael and the others get you out safely, you'll still be in harm's way. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Darling," he murmurs, cupping my face. "Don't think of that now. No one knows what will happen. Let's make every moment we're together count."

I can't help but smile at him.

"That sounded a bit like a line to get me back into your bed."

"I heard it the moment I said it," he chuckles. "But . . . did it work?"  
I laugh, standing up on my toes to reach for him, and he kisses me until I'm breathless. The rest of the day passes uneventfully, and yet it's filled with wonders. Edward is feeling well and by my side, helping with my everyday chores, both inside and out. We're careful to always keep one eye on the dirt road but otherwise enjoy each other's company. A few times, I catch him looking at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention, and it makes my heart leap in my chest, seeing his desire written all over his face.

That night, we're finishing up dinner when a knock on the kitchen door interrupts our conversation. The smile washes off Edward's face, and he's on his feet immediately, his right hand flying to his side where his gun used to be.

"Hide!" I whisper, trying to remain calm. "Upstairs."

"Isabella, it's me."

My shoulders sag with relief.

"It's my cousin," I say in my normal voice. "Thank God."

Edward lets out a deep breath.

"Michael," I say in greeting, letting him inside.

"Isabella, I come with good news."

He looks over my shoulder, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, he's here. I thought he'd be in the barn or the cellar."

I turn my back to lock the door, hoping he won't notice the reddening of my cheeks. Michael cannot know about Edward and me.

"Would you care for some dinner?" I ask, hoping to distract him.

"Thank you, I already ate," he replies, giving me a warm smile.

He addresses Edward.

"You look . . . well," he manages.

Edward thanks him, and Michael quickly reverts to our native tongue, asking me to translate for him.

"So what's this good news?" I ask.

"We were able to get in contact with London."

"London?" Edward asks eagerly.

"They've made contact," I tell him.

"We'll smuggle him to the capital in a truck and sail him out, just like they did with the Jews," Michael continues.

"When?" I ask, trying not to look affected.

"Two days from now at first light."

"That's . . . wonderful news."

 _Only two more days and Edward will be gone forever._

"What is he saying?" Edward asks.

I turn to him.

"They're getting you out. First by truck to the capital, and then they'll sail you to safety . . . in two days."

Edward doesn't speak. He merely nods his head, looking somber.

"Be ready to leave at 6 o'clock Monday morning," Michael says. "Hopefully, all of the other traffic to the capital will provide a nice cover for us."

"It's a good plan. I'll make sure he's ready."

Michael smiles proudly.

"Good. I'll be on my way, then."

"Wait!" I say, remembering what happened earlier. "I saw Rose's husband today in town. He said they were close to finding the saboteurs. Please, no more trains, Michael!"

"Why would he say that to you?"  
"I don't know," I admit. "It could have been just to boast or to tell me how weak he finds our people, but it frightened me nonetheless. Please, be careful!"

"I will," he promises.

He nods to Edward before leaving. I start clearing the table, unsure of what to say. Edward helps. The silence is deafening.

"Two days," he finally murmurs.

"Yes."

"It's . . . not enough."

I look up at him.

"I know."

We stare at each other, but there's nothing more either of us can really say, so we go back to cleaning up after dinner, the knowledge of our impending separation like a heavy cloud around us. After the night feeding and locking up, it's still rather early, but both of us gravitate toward the bedroom, heading upstairs even though there's still a bit of light outside. We find solace in each other's arms, touching and kissing until we're too exhausted to stay awake any longer. I sleep poorly that night, images of Edward being shot down in his plane haunting my dreams, and I wake up crying. He shushes me softly, holding me tightly against him until I fall back asleep.

Morning comes all too soon, and while I'd love nothing more than to stay in bed, naked and warm with Edward's arms around me, I know I have my animals waiting for me in the stable. I tell Edward to sleep some more, but he rises with me, helping me with the feeding and milking even though he's just as tired as I am. We eat breakfast in silence, and the rest of the morning we tiptoe around each other, at noon eating a quiet lunch together despite neither of us having any appetite. That afternoon, I ask him to bring down his uniform for me.

"I can't very well send you back, looking like a hobo," I say, trying for cheerfulness, as I start mending the tears.

He sits across from me, watching as I quickly work to restore it as best I can before trying it on at my request.

"There," I say, cutting off a few loose threads. "You're ready to fly again."

"Do you regret it?" he suddenly asks, looking grave.

"Regret it?"

"It . . . this . . . us. When you cried for me last night . . . it . . ."

He clears his throat.

"I never meant to cause you sorrow," he whispers.

"You haven't. I would do the same all over again."

I blink back the tears in my eyes.

"You've made me feel alive again."

"And you, me. Isabella, I never knew . . . Before, I fought because it was my duty, and it was the right thing to do. But now, I'll fight for you. You deserve to be free. I want you to have everything."

"I only want you," I whisper, looking up at him. "Everything with you. Tonight, I . . . I wanted to ask you if you'd . . . m-make love to me."

Edward swallows audibly.

"Are you sure?"

I nod my head. I can't imagine ever wanting anyone else the way I want Edward. Tonight is our last night together, and I want to remember it forever.

"It would be . . . more than an honor," he replies.

I breathe out, feelings of nervousness and relief coursing through me. For some reason, I feared he'd say no out of some misguided sense of chivalry.

"All right," I say, feeling shy again.

He wraps me up in his arms, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

"Are you sure it's not just because I look so devastatingly handsome in my uniform, you can't resist me?"

I grin at him, happy he's lightened the mood.

"Maybe I just wanted to be the one corrupting you this time."

"Ah, I knew it," he chuckles, kissing my lips. "Please, corrupt me, then. I'm yours."

I open my mouth to make another witty comeback, but it dies on my lips at the sound of the kitchen door opening behind me.

"Isabella, why weren't you at—"

 _Oh God, no!_

"Church," Rose whispers.

I turn in Edward's arms, now staring into the wide blue eyes of my sister. Her gaze darts from me to Edward again and again, her mouth dropping open.

"He's . . . English," she whispers.

There's no denying it. Behind me, Edward is perfectly still, but I feel the tension radiating through him. At the same time as Edward takes his right hand from my waist, reaching for his gun, Rose takes a step backward out the door.

"No!" I cry, not sure which of them I'm speaking to.

Everything stops at that moment. I realize with terrifying certainty that if I don't do something right now, I'll lose them both. If Rose tells her husband about Edward, I will never forgive her. And if Edward harms Rose I will never forgive him. Both of their lives now rest in my hands!

"Rose, please," I beg, stepping out of Edward's embrace, reaching out my hand to her. "Please, don't do this."

She hesitates, staring back and forth between us.

"Please," I whisper, tears welling up in my eyes. "I can't lose him."

"Do you . . . love him?" she asks, looking at him over my shoulder.

"Yes," I whisper, feeling the truth behind my words, deeply in my soul. "I love him."

She takes a step forward, grasping my outstretched hand. Understanding passes between us.

"He won't be here for—"

"No, I don't want to know," she interrupts. "I don't need to know anything else. It's . . . enough."

This is what it comes down to in Rose's universe. Only love could make someone sacrifice everything. She understands that. She lives that. And now I do too.

"Thank you," I say, my voice breaking with tears.

Rose nods.

"I have to get ready for my dinner tonight," she says. "All of the officers will be there."

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment.

"And they won't be sending out patrols. The, uh, roads will be open."

I stare at her, overwhelmed with gratitude.

"I understand."

"So, you must be running out of supplies," she says cheerily. "I'll come by next week with some things for you?"

"Thank you," I whisper. "That would be nice. I'll make us hot chocolate."

"See you then."

She gives Edward one more glance and then a polite nod before she leaves, closing the door behind her. I collapse backward into his arms, sobbing.

"What happened?" he asks, turning me around. "Isabella, what just happened?"

"I-I thought I'd lose you both! That she would turn you in or that you would shoot her!"

"No! No, I would never. She's your sister. I could never . . . do that to you."

"N-neither could she," I stutter. "She won't say anything."

"Are you certain? What did you say to her?"

"She asked me if . . . if I . . ."

He wipes my tears away, holding my face between his hands.

"What?" he asks softly.

"If I loved you."

He goes still, staring at me with wide eyes.

"And I said yes."

He startles, but he doesn't let go of me.

"Did you mean it?" he whispers.

I start to nod my head, and then his lips are on mine, giving me the sweetest, most tender kiss I've ever experienced.

"Oh God," he exhales, tucking my head underneath his chin and holding me against his chest. "I love you too."

I wrap my arms around him and allow us these few moments together. But I know what happens next.

"You have to leave now," I tell him, pulling away.

"What?"

"Rose said . . . the roads will be open tonight. No patrols. It'll be safe."

"N-no. No," he says, shaking his head. "We have tonight. We get tonight."

"No," I whisper, fighting the urge to cry again. "We don't."

"Isabella . . ."

"It's not fair. It's not! But it's the only way you'll get out safely. Tomorrow morning, you could get stopped by a patrol. They'd kill you. They'd kill Michael. It has to be now. It has to be."

He starts to shake his head again, but I stop him.

"You _have_ to get out safely, Edward. If we wait until tomorrow and something happens . . . I'd never forgive myself. I have to know that you're out there somewhere. Otherwise . . . I don't think I can—"

I start to cry again. The thought of a world without Edward in it is simply too much to bear. I need something to hold on to after he leaves, a faint hope that I might see him again one day.

"All right," he murmurs. "All right."

"Thank you."

I wipe my eyes, trying to calm myself.

"We have to go to Michael's right away."

Edward nods solemnly.

"I'll get you a backpack for your uniform. You shouldn't wear it until you're . . . out."

I somehow manage to remain stoic and seemingly unaffected at Michael's parents' farm as I quickly explain to him the necessity of leaving as soon as possible. My cousin springs into action, telephoning the person whose truck they were going to use tomorrow morning for the trip to the capital and telling him about the change of plans.

"You should leave before he gets here," Michael tells me, taking my hand in his for a moment.

I nod. We aren't safe yet, and it's best if I know as little as possible.

"I'll go ask my mother for some food for the trip," he says, mercifully leaving Edward and me to say goodbye alone.

We stare at each other, and I try to burn his every feature into my mind so I won't forget what he looks like, all the while wondering if he's doing the same to me.

"This won't be forever," he says, taking a step toward me. "The war _will_ end some day and then . . . "

"Please," I whisper, barely holding back tears. "No promises. Just know . . . I'll be here."

Edward nods, glancing around before pulling me tightly against his body.

"Thank you," he whispers, pressing his lips to my hair. "I'll never forget. Not ever, my beautiful, brave Isabella."

 _How can I let him go?_

"I love you," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his waist for the last time.

Above me, he makes a strange sound in his throat, holding me even tighter.

 _Please, God, keep him safe!_

"G-good-bye Edward," I hiccup as I pull myself out of his embrace, standing up on my toes to kiss him quickly before turning on my heel and running out of the door.

I don't stop until I reach my own house, sprinting up the stairs and launching myself onto the bed where I hug Edward's pillow and wail out in sorrow and despair. Edward is gone.

Many hours later, I'm able to pull myself out of bed, only because I know I'm needed in the stable. The routine of everyday tasks is calming, but as soon as I return to the silence of my house, I'm once more reminded of his departure. How strange that he was only here for such a short time, but already I'd gotten used to having him here with me. I spend the night as well as most of the next day in agony, worrying. Just as I'm about to sit down to dinner, there's a knock on my door.

"Who is it?"

"Michael."

 _Thank you, God!_

The relief I feel is staggering in its intensity. Opening the door to him, I already know his mission was a success, which he confirms as soon as he's inside. Edward was hidden on a fisherman's boat and sailed to safety, taking the same route as Hannah and many of the other Jewish citizens.

"Thank you so much for your help," Michael says, joining me for dinner. "We truly appreciate it."

I think of Edward who will soon be back in England, ready to keep fighting—this time for me, for my freedom.

"I want to do more," I say to my cousin. "I want to help in any way that I can. And don't you dare tell me it's too dangerous."

Michael regards me for a moment before nodding.

"Welcome to the Resistance," he says with a grin.

I exhale, a sense of purpose easing the sorrow I feel for Edward. I have to believe all of this happened for a reason, that I fell in love with him so I could have this opportunity to do good and hopefully make a difference. He called me brave, and that's what I'll be. For him.

In the following months, life returns to normal on the outside. I work on the farm. I socialize a bit with people from town as well as my family, and I receive weekly visits from Rose. We don't talk about Edward or what happened the day she discovered us. In turn, I don't comment on her marriage, and we form a sort of truce, which allows us to still have a relationship of sorts. Secretly, I spend a fair bit of time helping Michael and the Resistance, mostly as a lookout or carrying correspondence for them. The tasks are small but meaningful and greatly appreciated. Meanwhile, trains continue being blown up on a regular basis, and the hostility toward our invaders, as well as the people who work with them, increases drastically. I worry for Rose's safety, hearing stories of the Resistance assassinating traitors in the capital, sometimes on the street in broad daylight. Girls who go with German soldiers are punished and humiliated.

On June 6th, I listen to the BBC reports of British and American troops landing in Normandy, many of them killed on the spot, and for the first time I allow myself to cry, not just for the terrifying possibility of Edward being among them, but for all of those lives lost and the families who will never see their loved ones again. Nearly a year passes like this with reports of both victories and defeats on both sides. I still think about Edward every night before I go to bed, reliving the few precious moments we shared, but I find it increasingly difficult to conjure up his face in my mind and remember how his voice sounded. Still, I don't forget him. I find solace in knowing that if he has died fighting our enemy, the memory of him will live within me on for as long as I'm alive.

On May 4th early in the morning, I wake up to pounding on my door. I expect it to be Michael, but it isn't. It's my sister, dressed only in her nightgown. She's shivering, leaning against her bicycle.

"Rose!" I usher her inside and sit her down at the kitchen table, untying my robe to wrap it around her shoulders. "What on earth are you doing here?"

She stares into space, shaking her head.

"What happened?" I ask. "Are you hurt?"

"H-h-he's . . . gone."

"Gone? Who?"

She presses her lips together as her eyes fill with tears.

"Reichhardt?"

As I say his name, she begins to shake, rocking back and forth.

"Rose? What do you mean he's gone?"

"He's gone!" she cries. "He left . . . he left me!"

In that moment, I feel torn between sympathy and relief. Sympathy for my sister's grief and relief—complete and utter relief that the man she calls her husband might truly be gone.

"Tell me what happened," I say, sitting down next to her, holding her hands in mine.

"Th-there was a call to the house yesterday. He was needed. But he said he'd be back soon. And I waited. And I waited. But he didn't come back!"

She starts crying in earnest, clutching my hands until they hurt. Still, I let her hold onto me.

"I w-went down to the barracks when I woke up last night. It's . . . empty. Everyone is . . . gone."

"What do you mean? The soldiers are gone?"

She nods her head.

 _They're gone!_

"What does this mean?" I whisper, mostly to myself.

"I don't know," she mumbles. "I-I don't understand. He . . . he wouldn't leave me. He loves me!"

She gives me a pleading look, desperate for me to confirm her statement. But I simply don't know what to tell her.

"I have to go home," she says, standing abruptly. "When he comes back, I want to be here."

"Rose—"

"No!" Her voice is hysterical. "He's coming back! He promised me. W-we had plans. A future together!"

"I'll drive you."

She nods, sniffing loudly. We drive in silence through quiet streets. The town is still asleep. I ask Rose if I can come inside with her, but she declines, walking alone down the footpath to the house, her nightgown flowing gently in the wind, making her look like a ghost in the misty gray morning light. I stay outside for a long time, watching the sun come up, hoping she'll come back out, but she doesn't. Finally, I drive back home. That night, I listen to the radio as always, stunned by the message that Germany has capitulated. It's over. It's really over!

Driving into town, I'm greeted by scenes of celebrating in the street. People have torn down their blackout curtains and have placed lit candles in every window of every house. But as I reach Hannah's house, it's dark. I find Rose, quiet and pale next to the radio. On the inside, I'm alight with joy, wanting nothing more than to join everyone in celebration, but my main priority now is taking care of my sister. She kept her promise to me, revealing nothing about Edward, and he was able to escape safely because of that. I stay with her.

The following morning, they come for her, a crowd of townspeople, most of whom I've known my entire life. As I see them approach the house, I grab Rose by the hand, ready to make a run for the back door.

"Let them."

Her voice is surprisingly calm as she escapes my grasp.

"Rose . . ."

"Let them. Don't interfere, please. I don't want you hurt because of what I've done."

I can do nothing but watch as she opens the door to them, and they grab her, marching her toward the town square. I follow behind the crowd at a distance. In the square, they've rounded up a dozen or so young women, all of whom have fraternized with the enemy. I watch silently as they begin, stripping them down to their underwear, taunting and shoving them, calling them Nazi whores. Many of the girls cry and fight back, but not Rose. She stands silent and defeated as they spit on her and yell in her face. The soldiers are gone, so the people take it out on the girls they've left behind, a needed catharsis after five years of oppression, fear, and murder. I force myself to keep her gaze as they bring out the scissors, grabbing fistfuls of her beautiful golden hair, and cut if off in large uneven chunks that scatter to the wind while the crowd cheers. Each of the other girls is punished in similar fashion as the town celebrates in euphoric triumph, tearing down the banners of oppression and dancing in the street. Afterward, I take off my coat and wrap it around my sister. People stare as I lead her to my car, but I don't care. I'm taking her home.

News of my involvement with the Resistance soon becomes public knowledge, and I'm praised at every turn for my courage. Meanwhile, Rose is treated as a social pariah. And all either of us did was fall in love. I have never condoned what Rose did when she married the enemy, but I stand firm in my belief that she didn't do it to hurt anyone. She was naïve and foolish, yes, but I refuse to believe the people who call her a collaborator. She cried just as much as I did when Hannah fled, and I know she doesn't share her husband's hatred. The day after I brought her home, the police show up, wanting to take her into custody for her own protection. I tell them the damage has been done already and ask them to leave us in peace. Thankfully, they comply. In the coming months, Rose doesn't leave the farm at all. She moves back into her old room, helps me with the daily chores, and eats only because I force her to. She covers her head with a scarf at all times, but somehow it only makes her more beautiful, making her face stand out without the distraction of her golden locks.

One day she gets a telegram, informing her that she is now a widow. It offers no explanation of Reichhardt's demise, merely that he is dead. Rose receives the news with stoic silence, handing me her diamond ring and the piece of paper before heading back outside to continue working in her small vegetable garden. She never speaks of him again.

As summer turns to fall, Rose slowly begins to come back to life. She smiles sometimes when we listen to plays on the radio or when I read out loud to us. After I'm offered a part-time teaching position at the local school, I buy her a dog to keep her company, and for the first time since the war ended, I hear her laughing when she plays with it in the yard.

It seems that everyone is coming back to life, and hardly a week goes by without a wedding celebration or an announcement of an engagement or pregnancy. I receive offers of my own, much to my surprise. First, from a young man I went to school with before the war, and second from one of my fellow teachers, an older gentleman who teaches Science. I decline them both politely but without hesitation. While they are both good men and the attention is flattering, the prospect of marriage holds no appeal to me unless it's for love, and I haven't felt that way about anyone besides Edward. It's been more than six months since the war ended, and I have had no word from him. In my mind, I recognize the logical conclusion that he must be dead, but my heart refuses to believe it. I carry the memory of him with me every day as Rose and I prepare to celebrate the upcoming holidays. We decorate the house with homemade garlands and bows, and cook and bake our mother's recipes until the house both looks and smells like Christmas.

On the 22nd of December, we hear a car approaching as we we're cleaning up after dinner.

"That must be Michael," I say, wiping my hands. "He said he might stop by for a visit with his fiancée."

"I'll just be upstairs," Rose says, retreating.

"No, stop." I hold out my hand to her. "Please, stay."

She shakes her head, but I continue despite her refusal.

"It's Christmas. And you're family. If he wants to visit, he'd better get over it. Or he can leave again."

"He'll never forgive me," she whispers. "No one will."

"Yes, they will," I say firmly. "It's time everyone moved on and started thinking of the future instead of the past. This is your house too. Now, please open the door, and ask our cousin inside. I'll find us some treats."

"Thank you," she says softly. "For everything."

Smiling, I caress her cheek before putting some water on for coffee. We are going to have a lovely evening together as a family, and that's final. I shiver lightly as Rose opens the kitchen door behind me.

"Isabella?"

"Hmm?"  
"It's . . . for you."

"Honestly, Rose," I sigh, walking over to her. "Didn't we just—"

I'm stunned into silence as I stare at two tall figures outside the door. The one on the left steps forward, into the light, and I gaze into a pair of green eyes. I know them. Out of nowhere they're replaced by bursts of bright light and then darkness.

Rose's voice rouses me and coaxes me into consciousness. I blink, shaking my head. Someone is with her. A dark-haired man I've never seen before. Both of them are looking down upon me, and I realize I'm on the couch in the living room.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Emmett McCarty, ma'am."

"American?"

He gives me a dimpled smile.

"That's right. Formerly of the US Air Force. I was stationed in Ketterington with Edward."

"Edward!" I sit up, nearly knocking him out of the way. "Where is he?"

"He's upstairs," Rose says. "He . . . needed a little privacy."

I know I should ask what happened, why Mr. McCarty is here with him and so on, but all I can focus on is the fact that Edward is upstairs at this very moment. I hurry off the couch, shooting Rose a quick glance.

"Will you be all right down here?"

She looks at Mr. McCarty for a moment.

"Yes, I'll be all right."

I take two steps at a time, my heart thundering in my chest as I approach my bedroom. It's nearly dark in there, but I see him anyhow, sitting on the edge of my bed, facing away from me.

"This is where we first met."  
His voice is deeper, richer than I remember, and I can't help but close my eyes for a moment as it washes over me. It's been so long.

"I remember," I whisper.

"When I first woke up and saw you . . . for a moment I thought I was dead and I was glad . . . because if you were there with me, well, it would have to have been heaven."

"Edward . . ."

His broad shoulders rise and fall as he draws a deep breath.

"You're so _beautiful_ ," he says, his voice filled with awe. "After a while I was sure I'd exaggerated it in my mind, but . . . no. You're exactly as I remember you. Perfect."

I approach him slowly; something about him makes me cautious.

 _Why won't he look at me?_

"You thought of me?" I ask.

"Every night. Every day."

"M-me too."

I sit down next to him, reaching out to place my hand on his shoulder. He's solid. Real. _Alive_. I choke back a sob, but he notices, turning around and throwing his arms around me, tucking my head beneath his chin. The dam inside me breaks, and I crumble in his embrace. I've been brave for so long, never allowing myself to grieve for him, always being the strong one. I cry and cry, faintly feeling him lifting me onto his lap. I dig my fingers into the thick fabric of his coat, holding on for dear life. In the quiet of my room, he holds me, letting me fall apart in his arms.

"Y-you're really here," I manage after a while. "You came b-back."

He wipes my face with his sleeve, and I do my best to calm down.

"I never forgot. How could I?" he murmurs. "After everything that happened and the war ending, I wanted to write to you, but . . . I figured the honest thing would be to let you see me and then decide if . . . if you might . . . still . . . Please, Isabella, won't you say something?"

"About what?"

Exhaling deeply, he turns his head.

"Oh."

With a shaking hand, I reach up to caress the fresh scars that run down the side of his face and neck. He shivers lightly at my touch, and I hope I'm not hurting him.

"I'm not the same as I was."

No, he isn't, but it has nothing to do with his face. It's in his eyes. He has seen things. Things that change a person. But so have I.

"I didn't notice," I whisper. "It doesn't matter."

He looks straight at me, lifting up his left hand.

"And this?" he asks, his voice tight.

I bring my palm up to his, linking my five fingers with his three.

"You were already more than capable with the use of just one hand, as far as I remember. With milking cows and . . . other things."

He stares at me, seemingly stunned. Then, the most miraculous thing happens: He breaks into a grin. It's so very familiar, and it's . . . everything. He's still in there, the roguish youth who cursed like a sailor, grabbed my chest, flirted shamelessly, and made me fall desperately in love with him in just two days. I will bring him back to life.

"So, you aren't married?" Edward asks, gazing down upon me.

"No."

He leans closer.

"Engaged?"  
I shake my head.

"You have a steady fellow?"  
I laugh, feeling truly happy for the first time ever.

"No!"

"Then it wouldn't be too forward of me to ask for a kiss, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't."

"And after a lot of kisses . . . if I were to ask for your hand?"

"It's yours," I whisper, blinking back the tears in my eyes. "Hand, heart, every part of me. It's yours."

His lips are as soft as I remember, his kisses igniting fire underneath my skin as we cling, rediscovering each other.

"I love you," he says, holding my face between his hands. "Whatever happens next, you decide. We can stay here or go to England or even go with Emmett to America. I don't care as long as we're together."

 _America!_

I have always wanted to go to discover its wonders. And to do so with Edward by my side . . . I could think of nothing more glorious.

"Do we have to decide right away?"

"No. I'll only ask one decision of you tonight."

He scrambles off the bed, helping me up in a sitting position. He kneels down in front of me, his eyes drawn to my chest. I look down, blushing as I realize I'm unbuttoned and nearly exposed, courtesy of his wandering hands.

He grins at me, shaking his head, and I can't help but laugh. I hope he never changes. Reaching into his pocket, he presents me with a ring.

"Marry me?" he whispers, his face a picture of hope and nerves.

Saying yes to hiding Edward for the Resistance turned out to be the best decision I'd ever made. Until now.

"Yes."

 **British pilots who were shot down over Denmark were often helped by the locals, who hid them from the Nazis until they could get to Sweden, which was a neutral country during the war. This was also where the Jewish citizens fled to. The Danish government received a warning about the Nazis' plans and was able to get most of them sailed to Sweden with the help of brave fishermen from Copenhagen.**

 **The part about the treatment of the girls who went with German soldiers is also true. I think it's pretty obvious from my depiction of it that I don't approve of their punishment, but I can also understand why the people in most occupied countries in Europe reacted as they did after the war was over, and the only ones to take their anger out on were the girls left behind. Everything about rations is also true, although Denmark wasn't nearly as severely affected as some other European countries during WWII.**

 **Anyway, that's enough History lesson for one day. :)**

 **I might write their wedding night at one point (since they got cheated out of their first time) so put the story on alert just in case.**

 **Oh, and Crossing the Lines chapter 28 will be up this weekend.**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own _Twilight_. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

 **Part two!**

 **I had a lot of fun writing this (and not just for the obvious reasons, haha). Although this turned out to be much longer than I'd anticipated, mostly because they wouldn't stop, uh, consummating, once they got started!**

 **I also got to research a lot of the old wedding traditions in my own country, and everything you see in this chapter is how it was, and is, done in Denmark.**

 **A huge thank you to ChayaSara, my amazing beta, who must've been up all night working on this chapter to get it to me in just half a day! Let's leave some love for her in the reviews, eh? :)**

 **Enjoy!**

 **BPOV**

"Edward . . . oh God, we have to stop."

"I-I know."

A mere moment later, though, his lips are on mine again, and his hands travel dangerously low on my back.

"My aunt will check on us," I say in between kisses, all the while pressing my torso up against his.

"We have a minute more." Edward's voice is rough, and the sound makes me heat up everywhere. "God, I can't wait until we're married."

Abruptly, he pulls back, grimacing.

"Fuck, that's not, I mean, I shouldn't curse." He shakes his head, moving farther away.

"W-what?" I draw a much-needed breath to collect myself.

Slowly, he reaches forward to hold my face between his large hands.

"I didn't mean . . . that's _not_ the reason I want to marry you, Isabella." His cheeks flush, and he lowers his eyes as well as his hands. "Uh, well, not the main reason, at least."

I smile.

"I know. But I can't wait either."

He shoots me a crooked grin, his color still high. We move away from each other until we're seated at a proper distance. My aunt walks in just a second later, examining the both of us closely. Seemingly satisfied, she smiles. In my language she asks if we'd like more tea, and I translate to Edward, who politely declines. I'm happy to see her leave the room again, but I know she'll be back in five minutes time, having assigned herself as the protector of my virtue until I'm wed. This is probably a good thing.

Edward and Mr. McCarty have been staying at the hotel in town ever since they arrived a little over a week ago. I wanted them to stay here at the house but knew it was impossible. There were certain things that were allowed during the war, like my having Edward here without a chaperone. But the war is over, and the old rules are back in place. When my aunt and uncle, Michael's parents, learned about my engagement to Edward, they made sure everything was done properly, including making sure we're never alone together for too long.

"Is Mr. McCarty with you today?" I ask.

Edward nods.

"I think he's in the stables with your sister. He says no one ever checks on them."

I sigh.

"They wouldn't. To them, Rose is . . . sullied. They won't even let her act as a chaperone for you and me. It's ridiculous."

Edward takes my hand.

"Have you told Mr. McCarty about her past?" I ask.

"No. That's her story to tell if she so chooses."

"Thank you."

"But if they do become, er, involved, he should hear it from her and not town gossip, don't you agree?"

"Of course. I'm not sure she'd ever become involved, though. Mr. McCarty is a very nice man, but Rose is . . . she's different now. I'm worried she'll never be as she once was."

"I'm different now too," Edward murmurs. "Irrevocably. You said it didn't matter to you."

"It doesn't." I gaze into his eyes, running the tips of my fingers over the scars on the side of his face. "Because I'm different as well, irrevocably in love with you."

I blush at my own bold statement, looking off to the side. In the next moment, Edward's arms are around me, pulling me to him, and I come willingly as he holds me close.

"I love you, Isabella," he whispers. "I don't think I would've survived the war if I hadn't known you were here waiting for me"—he presses to a kiss to my hair—"No more waiting now, love. Tomorrow, I'm making you my bride, and our life together can finally begin."

I sigh happily, and not even my aunt's huff of disapproval as she enters the room and sees us embracing can dim my smile.

Later that night, after Edward and Mr. McCarty have departed and my aunt has gone home, Rose and I are in my bedroom getting ready for tomorrow.

"What do you think?" I ask her.

"It's perfect," she whispers. "I'm glad I never wore it. Mother's wedding dress was made for you."

A loaded silence follows her statement. Our father would never have allowed Rose to wear it at her wedding. We both attended, but Father refused to give her away, sitting quietly in the back of the church as his youngest daughter married a man he hated. He died that same night. It hasn't been easy, but I've forgiven Rose for her past, knowing she never acted out of evil. I only hope she can do the same for herself some day. Even now, six months after the war ended, she still wears a scarf around her head even though her hair is almost at her shoulders, and she never goes into town unless it's absolutely necessary. This is the first time she's mentioned anything regarding her former marriage or husband since we learned that he died.

"Your dress was lovely," I say, unable to come up with anything else.

She shrugs but quietly says, "I have something for you."

She walks out, and I hear her opening the door to her room just down the hall. When she comes back, she's holding a small parcel, which she places on the bed before opening it.

"I didn't have much time," she says, "so I hope it's all right."

She holds up a beautiful veil for me to see.

"Oh my God." I blink back tears. "Rose, it's so beautiful."

She smiles, draping it over my hair.

"Don't get too attached to it. You know what'll happen to it tomorrow."

I laugh, posing in front of the mirror. I can't believe I'm going to be a bride!

"The dress is old; the veil is new," she says, reaching into the bag again. "And I thought you could borrow these tomorrow—if you want."

She hands me a small box. Inside I find a pair of silver stud earrings with light blue stones.

"Mother and Father gave me those when I turned sixteen," she says.

"I remember," I whisper. "They're the same color as your eyes."

"They'll look beautiful on you. Mr. Masen will go crazy when he sees you."  
I smile at her.

"You can call him Edward, you know. You don't have to be formal with him here in your own home."

She takes a seat on the bed, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Isabella, there's something we have to talk about."

I sit down next to her.

"What is it? Do you not like Edward?"

"No, I do. He's very nice and obviously in love with you. I-I know he'll be a good husband, and you'll take care of each other."

"Then, what is it?" I ask, dread filling my gut as I watch her serious expression.

"Mr. McCarty has made me an offer of marriage, and . . . I've accepted it."

"Oh." I swallow. "So you'll . . ."

"I'm leaving with him. Going to America."

I feel stunned. I knew he'd taken a fancy to Rose—the way he looks at her is unmistakable—

but I didn't think she was interested in him. Not in that way.

"Is this what you want?" I whisper.

"Yes." She answers without hesitation. "There's no real future for me here. Everyone hates me, Isabella."

"I don't."

Rose tears up.

"I know. You're the only one I don't want to leave, but I have to. I'll only be a burden to you. You're getting married, starting a home. You can't do that with your sister down the hall. It isn't right."

"We'd make it work. Edward would never ask you to leave. Do you . . . do you love Mr. McCarty?"

"I'm sure I'll learn to with time," she says. "It's not the same as what you and Edward have. But he's very kind. And funny. He'll keep me safe and give me the chance for a real life. That's more than I could hope for."

"Oh, Rose." I can't hold back my own tears. "I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to either, but I've made up my mind. I want children of my own someday, a family, and I'd never get that here. No man would ever want me."

"Does Mr. McCarty know . . . about your previous marriage?"

She nods, wiping away a tear.

"He knows. I told him today after he asked me. I didn't want to hide it from him. He says he doesn't care. And no one in America will ever know. His parents are farmers. They have a lot of land in Minnesota, and Mr. McCarty, uh, Emmett, says they'll help us out with a place of our own near theirs."

"So it's all settled?" I ask, drawing a deep breath.

"It is. I probably don't deserve a second chance, but I want it. I know I can be a good wife to him, and hopefully we'll have babies too. I've always wanted to be a mother. The only thing I'll miss is you. I hope you'll write to me."

I nod, pulling her into a hug. While we embrace, Edward's words from the night he came back to me rattle around in my brain. He said it didn't matter to him where we ended up, that we could go to America with Mr. McCarty. I don't tell this to Rose, though. There's so much to consider, most importantly this farm. It's been in our family for generations, and Father left it to me.

"You deserve every happiness in the world," I say, sniffing back more tears.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Rose pulls back, looking at me. "I shouldn't have told you now, on the night before your wedding. This is a happy occasion. And I am so, so happy for you and . . . Edward."

"Thank you. I wish I wasn't so nervous about tomorrow though."

Rose nods slowly.

"The wedding night, you mean?"

I stare at her for a second.

"No. No, I meant the church, the luncheon. We've hardly had any time to prepare. It won't be a grand affair like the other weddings around here."

"Oh. Isabella, I don't mean to pry, but when Edward stayed here before, did the two of you . . ."

I shake my head quickly.

"No. I can wear white tomorrow," I say with a smile.

"All right. I realize this is backwards, the younger sister giving the older one advice like this . . . but I wish someone had prepared me."

"What do you mean?"

She twists her hands in her lap.

"You know, what to expect from your new husband. His demands of you and such."

"Oh." I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been thinking of my wedding night a lot, but Edward's "demands" haven't entered my mind once.

"It'll hurt the first time," Rose says quietly. "And it can be . . . a little frightening seeing your husband like that, so . . . unhinged. But it doesn't last long, thankfully, and he'll fall asleep quickly afterward. Put a towel down underneath you. It will make the cleanup much easier. You'll, uh, you'll bleed the first time."

I stare at her with wide eyes, my ears ringing.

"But that's just the first time though. It gets better, right?"

"It's tolerable, certainly," she says, nodding. "I understand why a man feels that need, and it really doesn't last very long at all."

"Oh my god."

"I'm sorry!" she exclaims, grabbing my hands. "I don't mean to scare you. I just want you to know what to expect. No one told me anything beforehand."

"Rose, no," I say softly. "I'm not scared. I'm . . . sad."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Edward and I didn't do everything. But we did do some things when he stayed here, and it was . . . amazing—for the both of us."

"You enjoyed it . . . like a man does?" She sounds incredulous.

"I don't know if it's the same for a man, but it felt wonderful. He, uh, kissed me and touched me. Everywhere."

My cheeks are burning. I never expected to be this candid with her, but I want her to know it doesn't have to be the way she described it. Edward and I haven't made love yet, but I know he'll be both gentle and attentive with me. I'm nervous but not afraid.

Now it's Rose's turn to look stunned.

"That was my only hesitation about accepting Emmett," she confesses, "having to do that again every night. But maybe it won't be so bad, then?"

"He cares about you. I can't see why he wouldn't want you to enjoy it too."

"I didn't realize . . . a woman even could."

"Neither did I. Neither did Edward."  
I laugh, remembering.

"Maybe Mr. McCarty doesn't know either, but if you talk to each other, help guide each other, I'm certain you'll figure it out."

"And here I thought I was going to impart my wisdom to you. Thank you, sister. Truly."

I give her hand a squeeze.

"Help me get the dress off. Then I'll make us some hot chocolate, and maybe we can play cards?"

Rose smiles.

"That sounds wonderful."

Surprisingly, I sleep like a log all night long, which is good because the following morning is a flurry of excitement as my aunt as well as my female cousins come storming in to help me prepare. By the time we all leave for the church, I'm bathed, primped and made up like never before. Rose is looking beautiful in a new dress, and she's let her golden hair out finally. She's my matron of honor, something she was initially reluctant to accept, worried it would spoil the day. Naturally, I wouldn't hear of it. She's the only one I could think of for the position. I've asked Michael to give me away. Normally, it would fall to my uncle, but after hearing how it was Michael who brought Edward and me together, he agreed that it makes sense.

The church bells are already chiming as we arrive and my heart starts to beat faster. My aunt delivers me to Michael, who's wearing a proud grin. He hands me a beautiful bouquet, telling me it's from Edward. I don't know what the tradition is in England, but here it's customary for the groom to provide the bride with her flowers, and I'm glad someone has told him, because I hadn't given it a thought with everything else going on. There's even a smaller bouquet for Rose.

Usually, a wedding takes months and months to prepare, but neither of us wanted to wait. Tonight is New Year's Eve, and I couldn't think of a better way to start the new year than by becoming Edward's wife. As romantic as it is, there is also a practical reason, though. With many food rations still in place after the war, a small luncheon for family and close friends is much more manageable than a full dinner, given the short notice, and I honestly don't mind forgoing a large celebration. Marrying Edward is a dream come true on its own, and it's more than I could have ever dared hope for after having spent so many months thinking he had died in the war.

I hear the familiar notes of the wedding march starting from inside the church and grab Michael's arm to steady myself.

"Ready, cousin? You look beautiful."

I nod my thanks, trying to swallow.

"You look very nice too, Rose," he says quietly.

It's the first time he's acknowledged her since the war ended. I don't miss how Rose has to blink back tears as she thanks him. Michael nods, shuffling his feet, obviously uncomfortable with all the female emotion in the room as I, too, have to suppress tears.

Rose kisses both my cheeks, beaming at me before she lowers my veil and takes her place behind us. The doors open, and the sound of the organ envelops us. As we walk down the aisle, I faintly register the people in the pews, rising to their feet, but all I can truly focus on is the man who's waiting for me at the end and how I wish I could see him more clearly. Michael lifts my veil as the music crescendos all around us and takes my right hand, placing it gently in a much larger one. I look up into Edward's face, startled by the intensity of emotions I see in his eyes. He stares at me as though he can't believe what he's seeing, finally drawing a deep breath before lifting my hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

I blush furiously at the public display of affection, which isn't something that's normally done around here. My people are very private, but I'm glad to see that Edward doesn't share that belief as he even reaches up to touch my cheek.

The priest clears his throat, and I'm forced to turn my attention to him, letting go of Edward as is customary. The ceremony in itself is brief. Rose stands close to Edward, leaning in to translate everything to him since our local priest doesn't speak much English. I'm so grateful for her help. I doubt I'd be able to concentrate enough to do it myself with my heart beating wildly and my eyes tearing up already. We both answer yes when the priest asks us if we wish to marry, I in Danish and Edward in English, both our voices shaking with emotion. Then he asks us if we promise to love and honor each other, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death parts us. I have to choke out my yes, afraid I might start to cry at any second. The priest smiles and asks us to hold hands in agreement after which he puts his on top of ours and declares us husband and wife. Finally, we turn to each other. Rose takes my bouquet, and Emmett hands Edward the rings. There is no real ritual in my country's church when it comes to putting on the rings, but as Edward slips mine on, he clears his throat before speaking softly, for my ears only.

"I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honor you. All that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit."

His shining eyes meet mine as I put his on.

"I love you," I whisper. "Forever."

His hands shake in mine and he blinks several times to compose himself. I've long since given up the fight, conscious of the tears on my face. Edward lets go of me and reaches up to brush them away.

"Happy tears?" he whispers.

"The happiest."

"Go on!" Emmett stage whispers from behind him. "Kiss her!"

I can't help but laugh.

"We don't usually do that here." I look at the priest. "Pastor? May he kiss me?"

"I suppose," he grudgingly agrees. "After we're all done, Isabella."

We kneel down in front of him, and he places his hands on our heads, reciting Our Father and blessing us and our union. Then we stand up and face each other.

"Very well, young man. You may kiss your bride."

Edward grins at me.

"Did he say I could?"

I nod eagerly, and in the next moment I'm swept into Edward's embrace and thoroughly kissed. I swear I hear a few shocked gasps from the pews, but I couldn't care less at that moment. Edward is finally mine, and I am his.

Outside the church we're showered with rice as people cheer in congratulations. The rice itself is a statement of everyone's high approval of our marriage since it's still rationed heavily and would serve a better purpose in people's kitchens than raining down on Edward and me. The gesture is beyond lovely, and I can't help but stand up on my toes to kiss my new husband again, my heart so filled with love and happiness.

The luncheon at the town's one and only inn is wonderful. My aunt and uncle have insisted paying for it, being the closest thing to parents I have, and they have spared no expense. The mood is warm and thankfully informal, everyone eating, drinking, and conversing. Celebrations like this one have helped heal the wounds of the war, and I'm happy to see that my sister is enjoying herself, too, with Mr. McCarty by her side the whole time, his loud laughter at times overpowering the general chatter of the room. The townsfolk are fascinated by him and Edward, both of whom hold a certain exotic mystique to them, especially since many of the residents here have never left the county, let alone the country. Edward and I have hardly spoken a word since the church, or eaten, as we're treated to a seemingly unending parade of people wanting to congratulate us as well as shower us with gifts and money. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. I never expected my marriage to Edward would garner so much attention, but it seems as though everyone I've ever met is here, many of them merely stopping by the inn for a chance to shake our hands and offer well-wishes for the future. Edward takes it all in stride, listening attentively as I translate for those who don't speak English and dazzling some of my younger female relatives with his smile. I come from a big family with many aunts, uncles, and cousins all of whom are here today, and while I'm happy they're all getting a chance to meet Edward, I can't help but feel a bit saddened that the guest list is so uneven. Finally, there's a lull in the stream of guests at our table—a chance to take a breath.

"Edward?"

"Yes, darling?"

It isn't until now I've truly had a moment to admire him: his face, somehow all the more rugged and handsome with its scars, his new suit which serves to highlight the broadness of his shoulders, and his carefully styled hair, now a bit longer than when we first met.

"You look . . . very nice," I manage. "I didn't even tell you earlier when I saw you."

"You did in a way," he says, leaning closer to me. "I dare say you couldn't take your eyes off me. "

His roguish grin makes me blush. I love how his old personality shines through in moments like this, a reminder of our brief time together before the war nearly tore us apart forever.

"I certainly couldn't take my eyes off you. Still can't." He leans all the way in and steals a kiss. "My beautiful bride."

Mr. McCarty's laugh draws our attention for a moment. He's sitting with Rose and some of my cousins, his arm draped over the back of her seat. Rose looks entirely at ease there, and she even joins in the conversation with our relatives, thank God.

"Mr. McCarty is quite a character," I say, turning back to Edward. "I'm happy he came with you, for both you and my sister."

"I hear he's going to be your brother-in-law soon. Time to start calling him Emmett, wouldn't you say?"

I nod, smiling.

"I hope his family will be good to Rose."

"Why wouldn't they? Yours has been wonderful to me."

I take his hand in mine.

"I wish you had family here today to celebrate with you. I know your parents are gone, but are there any others?"

Edward shakes his head.

"I'm the only child of two only children. It's rare but it happens."

Giving my hand a squeeze, he continues:

"As far as I'm concerned, I do have my family right here with me today. It's you, Isabella. When I'm with you, it feels like home."

I nod eagerly, wiling myself not to tear up again. There was plenty of that at the church.

"As much I'm enjoying this, there's nothing I want more than to simply be alone with you," he whispers, "the way it was when I stayed with you before, just the two of us."

My heart skips a beat.

"Soon," I promise, giving his hand a squeeze in return.

After the meal, the tables are moved away from the center of the room, creating a space in the middle for dancing. It's time for the wedding waltz, our first dance as husband and wife. Edward holds out his hand to me and I take it, letting him lead us onto the floor. He smiles at me as he draws me into his embrace.

"I've been waiting to dance with you ever since that night outside when we first talked about our lives before the war. Do you remember?"

"Of course. You said you'd want every dance with me."

"And now I will."

Neither of us are very skilled dancers, but I think we manage quite well. Everyone has formed a large circle around us and has started clapping to the rhythm of the music as we waltz around the floor, moving closer and closer to us until we can't take another step without bumping into them. We're surrounded. Then, they lunge for us and pull us apart. With excited shrieks the women start ripping my veil, each of them claiming a small piece to take home. Through the mayhem I catch a glimpse of Edward being hoisted onto the shoulders of the men as they take his shoes off, hollering and cheering. The music changes and many couples pair up to dance. I find Edward off to the side, crawling around, looking for his shoes. The toes of his socks are missing.

"What on earth was that about?" he asks. "And what happened to your veil?"

I help him to his feet after he has put his shoes back on, reaching up to kiss him.

"One of our wedding traditions," I reply. "They say the more the bride's veil is torn, the happier the marriage."

Edward laughs.

"Well, in that case we can look forward to many, many years of wedded bliss. They tore it to shreds!"

"You don't do that in England?"

"No. I think most brides would be furious if anyone did that."  
I shrug, smiling as we sway to the music.

"And my socks? They cut them up!"

I can't help but laugh at his expression.

"We have this saying that when a man goes courting, he wears his finest socks. Now yours are ruined."

"I see." He laughs too. "So my courting days are over, then?"  
I grin up at him.

"They'd better be."

"I love you, wife. Are there any more traditions I should be aware of today?"

"I don't think so. Are there any English ones you'd like for us to do?"

Edward lowers his voice.

"I can think of a lot of things I'd like to do when we get home."

Instantly, his cheeks color.

"I mean, uh, carry you over the threshold, and . . . and kiss you without interruption. Just being with you, Isabella. I didn't mean . . . well, I did too, but . . ."

He sighs, resting his forehead against mine as he pulls me closer.

"I want you desperately."

I don't have time to respond. My uncle approaches and holds out his hand for a dance just as my aunt commandeers Edward for one too. With longing looks at each other, we're both pulled out onto the floor to dance with other people. I never thought I'd entertain the idea, but I can't wait for my wedding day to end.

As it turns out, I don't have to wait that long. Tonight is New Years Eve, and as the afternoon comes to a close, everyone rushes home to prepare for tonight's festivities, already in high spirits. Mr. McCarty is invited to my aunt and uncle's farm, and he accepts immediately. I assume Rose is coming home with me and Edward, but as we're dropped off, she stays in the car, saying she's spending the night with my aunt and uncle.

"Don't worry about a thing," she says. "I've already talked to Michael, and we're going to take care of the animals tomorrow, so you can, uh, sleep in."

I flush at her implication and say my goodbyes to my family, leaving Edward and me alone, unchaperoned for the first time since our engagement. The moment the car is out of sight, my husband scoops me up into his arms, making me yelp with surprise before his mouth is on mine, demanding and eager. Somehow, we manage to get inside without incident with Edward carrying me and kissing me at the same time. He kicks the door shut behind us, and we end up in the kitchen in a flurry of heated kisses and entwined limbs as he sets me down on the kitchen counter and wraps my legs around his middle. His hands fumble with my dress in the back, undoing the tiny buttons and revealing more and more of my upper body to him. I gasp as he pushes my bodice down and palms my breasts before lowering his mouth to them, licking and sucking me as he groans deep in his throat. He gathers me closer, pressing his erection against me and pulling up the hem of my dress, his large hands caressing my bare legs underneath. My head is swimming, my body overwhelmed by sensation, and I'm only barely aware of it when his hands reach my underwear, tugging impatiently to get them off. Suddenly he stops, breathing harshly against my skin as he clenches his fists.

"Not like this. Not like this."

He lets go of my underwear and drops his forehead against my chest for a moment before he pushes away from the counter. I'm panting, my breasts bared and my dress up around my hips.

"Jesus," Edward whispers, whirling around to look away from me. "Isabella, please. I'm, I'm struggling here."

Still trembling, I manage to gather my bodice up around me and lower my dress before I slide off the counter. The moment my feet touch the floor, Edward turns around again, a sheepish look on his face.

"That was not . . . I apologize."

I manage to shake my head.

"This is our wedding night," he murmurs. "We're going to remember it forever, and I want to do it right. Do right by you."

My heart swells with emotion. He's right. A fast, messy encounter isn't how I've imagined our first time.

"Neither of us ate much. I can find us something, and we can sit together for a while—just the two of us alone together?"

Edward's face lights up, and he nods.

"I'll just go change out of my dress first," I say. "Would you see if there's still a fire going in the sitting room?"

He's off in a flash, and I draw a deep breath before heading upstairs where I hang the dress up carefully before putting on my nicest nightgown and a robe on top of it. Back downstairs, I smile as I open the refrigerator. Someone, I suspect Rose, has prepared a cold repast for us: meats, sausages, cheeses, and fruits. There's even a bottle of champagne; God only knows how she managed to find that. It's perfect. I put everything plus homemade bread and butter on a tray and carry it into the living room, my heart beating faster at the sight of my handsome husband who's waiting for me. He's taken off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his collar, and his hair is messier as though he's been running his hands through it—a nervous habit of his.

"Will you sit with me?"

Edward nods, giving me a shy smile. I ask him to open the champagne as I fix his plate, and he hands me my glass.

"Happy New Year," he says softly, "my wife."

"Happy New Year," I whisper, touching my glass to his.

We sit close together, nibbling our food and listening to the radio. It's dark and cold outside, but here in our own little world, it's warm and safe, and we're together. That's all that matters.

"I think I'd like to go upstairs now," I say, setting down my empty glass.

Edward swallows audibly.

"Yes?"

"If, I mean, if you do."

He drains his champagne, his hand shaking as he puts the glass on the table. The air between us is charged as we walk up the stairs and into my, our, bedroom.

"Should we . . . get ready for bed?" he asks.

"I'm already changed."

"R-right. Me, then."

The moment he's out of the room, I draw in several large gulps of air, trying to calm myself. Slipping out of my robe, I decide to get into bed, leaving on just the small lamp on the bedside table. Edward comes back a few minutes later, still wearing all of his clothes.

"I realized . . . all of my things are still at the hotel."

"Oh. We can get them tomorrow."

He nods and starts unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes dart away from him as he undresses, which I realize is silly, but I can't just lie here and ogle him, especially since I'm covered up. I feel the bed dip under his weight as he gets in and finally turn my head to look at him. He's on his side, right next to me, but not touching me anywhere. His eyes meet mine, and he draws a shuddering breath as he reaches out to touch my face.

"Isabella . . . I'm nervous," he admits.

"You are?"

He nods, pulling down the covers a little.

"This is so pretty on you."

He caresses the delicate lace trimming on my nightgown, right above the swell of my breasts, but makes no move to touch me any further than that.

"You weren't nervous a-about this when you stayed with me those few days last year."

"Yes, I was. But it was different then. It felt like every day could have been my last. There wasn't time to think."

I place my hand on top of his, guiding it down until he palms my breast. His breath hitches.

"I know what you mean," I whisper. "Everything seemed so urgent back then."

Even though there had been very little fighting going on during the occupation of my country, it was on everyone's minds that this could change at any moment; we were all living in a state of constant fear. And Edward, being on active duty, would have felt it stronger still.

"I don't regret being with you then, not for a second," he says. "But now I want to do things right, give you the wedding night you've always dreamed of."

"The only thing I've dreamed of is being with you. And I am, so you've already given me all I want."

He smiles, sliding a bit closer to me.

"I'm nervous too," I whisper. "Please kiss me and make that go away."

"I will; I promise."

His lips are warm and soft, his kisses slower than they were downstairs in the kitchen but just as intoxicating. By the time Edward lifts my nightgown over my head, I've forgotten why I was nervous before. He teases and licks my nipples, slipping his fingers into my underwear. I nearly arch off the bed at the first touch, clutching him to me.

"God." He groans. "I'd almost forgotten. You're so soft everywhere."

I run my hand down his naked torso, blindly searching for him to return the pleasure.

"Please . . . don't," he mumbles, sliding my underwear down. "It'll be over before we even begin, love. I-I want you so badly."

"Have me. Please, Edward. Oh God, that feels . . . "

I moan loudly when he pushes a finger inside me, his warm mouth raining kisses on my chest, neck, and finally my lips.

"Now? Are you sure?" he asks, moving on top of me, his naked legs brushing against mine.

I nod, lifting my face up to kiss him again, loving the feeling of his large body on top of mine.

"I'll . . . I'll be gentle, I promise," he whispers, "I love you, Isabella."

"I love you."

His eyes seek mine, and he keeps my gaze even as he lifts up slightly to handle himself. I inhale sharply as I feel him sliding against me.

"H-here?" Edward's voice is strained, his body trembling as he gently pushes against my entrance.

"Yes."

I watch his face as he sinks inside me, his expression a mix of pleasure and shock. The pain I feel is brief and insignificant compared to the feeling I get seeing him so completely enraptured, so lost in me.

"O-oh," he stutters, "Oh, Isabella."

He swallows and draws a breath.

"Is it . . . do you feel . . . can I . . ."

I blink back tears, smiling up at him as I run my hands up and down his back, feeling all of his muscles tense, his slightly sweaty skin.

"You're inside me," I whisper, trying to absorb the wonder of it. It feels strange and wonderful all at the same time.

His lips brush mine.

"Please, I need to—"

He pulls back slowly, his eyes fluttering closed as he thrusts, a soft grunt escaping his parted lips.

"It feels so good inside you. So good, so good, so—"

He gasps, his hips snapping forward with more force than before.

"Oh, not . . . not yet!"

A strangled sound erupts from him as his body tenses even further, his lower half grinding against me, his gasped breaths warm against the side of my neck. Then it's as if all strength abandons him, and he collapses on top of me, still making little sounds at the back of his throat as he pants. I hold on to him, running my fingers through his hair until he lifts up his head.

"You're smiling?" He watches me closely. "You're not, uh, disappointed?"

I shake my head.

"But I was . . . awful," he whispers.

"You didn't like it?" I ask, suddenly nervous again.

"Like it? I-I loved it." He draws a deep breath. "It was too good. I lasted . . ."

He makes a face before staring intently at me.

"Did I hurt you?"

I shake my head again. There was a slight pain, but Edward already feels so badly about it being over so quickly. A relieved smile spreads across his face and he relaxes, shifting his hips until he slips from me and moves his lower half off me.

"God," he murmurs, dropping his forehead against my chest. "That was amazing."

Suddenly, he moves up to capture my lips with his, kissing me tenderly. His hands roam over me, stroking my breasts and my thighs before he cups me intimately, his fingers gently stroking me.

"A-again?" I stutter, moving my head to the side to grant his mouth access to my neck.

"No. Just for you. I want to make you feel."

And he does. He caresses, strokes, and rubs me until I writhe beneath his mouth and hands, whimpering and moaning. I shatter, crying out loudly, clenching and trembling for him.

"I want that every time," he says, pressing kisses onto my damp skin.

I chuckle, still breathing fast.

"Are you tired?" he asks, rubbing his nose against mine.

"No."

"Good. I don't want this night to be over."

I smile at him.

"I'll get the radio and the rest of the champagne. We can stay in bed."

He beams at me, kissing me quickly before jumping out of bed, naked and unashamed.

"I'll do it. Be right back, wife."

I laugh as he struts out of the bedroom, my eyes drawn to his firm backside. My husband is beautiful in both body and mind. While he's gone I make a quick trip to the bathroom, surprised at how weak my legs feel as I wobble down the hallway. As I wash the wetness between my legs away, I'm surprised to see I haven't bled at all. I thought that was supposed to happen.

While I wash my hands, I study myself in the mirror, but I don't look any different than before, except my hair isn't as neat, and the color in my cheeks is high, my eyes shining back at me, filled with happiness. I hurry back to the heated bedroom, already feeling chilled. Edward is placing the tray on the bedside table and turns to look at me, his eyes sweeping over my naked form and his lips parting. I resist the urge to cover myself as he approaches me, the hungry look in his eyes making my heart jump. I tilt my head back to look up at him, shivering as he runs his hands down my arms.

"You're cold." His voice is dark and low. "Let me warm you."

Before I can answer, he pushes the door to the hallway closed and lifts me up to place me on the bed, hovering over me.

"I dreamed of this so many times, of having you like this."

"S-so did I."

"Lie back. I want to try something."

I swallow nervously.

"It's for you," he says softly. "I think you'll like it."

"All right."

Once I'm lying down, he starts kissing me, rubbing my body to warm me back up before he moves down to my breasts.

"Does this feel good?" he asks, teasing me with his tongue.

"Yes."

"One night, a few months after I'd been with you, and I was back on duty, we were sitting around talking, me and some other pilots. The other fellows liked to talk about their girls back home." He trails kisses down my stomach, his large hands spreading my legs. "I didn't tell them anything about you, I promise. But I still paid attention."

My breathing speeds up as he strokes me with his fingers, his eyes fixed between my legs.

"You're so pretty," he whispers. "Pretty everywhere. I love touching you, seeing you like this."

"Edward." My voice is tight.

"One of the French guys told us something." He lowers himself, brushing his lips against the insides of my thighs. "He said if want to make your girl happy, you should kiss her . . . _everywhere_."

Using his fingers to part me, he dips his head, and then he's kissing me. There.

"Edward!"

I push against the top of his head, and he stops, looking up at me.

"You don't like it?"

I feel as though my face is on fire, just thinking of him having his mouth there.

"I-I don't know. It seems . . . wrong."

"Why? We're married now. "

He strokes me with his fingers, and it feels wonderful. Slowly, he lowers himself again, replacing his fingers with his tongue. I can't stop myself from moaning.

"Doesn't it . . . taste strange?"

"You taste like heaven," he murmurs, putting pressure on my inner thighs until I spread my legs wider. "Like Isabella and lust and making love."

"All—all right, then." I don't know what else to say.

I close my eyes as he puts his mouth back on me, trying to relax. His hands massage my breasts and he groans, his tongue teasing me until I can hardly stand it anymore. I feel empty inside, needing more, needing him.

"Your, your fingers," I gasp. "Please!"

His right hand slides down my body, and I cry out as he pushes inside, his fingers mimicking the act of making love while he licks and laps at me until I convulse with pleasure, screaming out so loudly that I startle myself. How could I have ever known it would be like this?

Edward kisses my stomach, my nipples, my neck, and finally my mouth, a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

"Did I make you happy?" he asks.

I nod, feeling irrationally shy but also curious.

"Can I, uh, do that to you? With my mouth?"

A shiver runs through him.

"Yes." His eyes burn with excitement. "But not tonight. I wouldn't last but two seconds, and I want to be inside you again if you'll let me."

I reach for him, lifting my legs to cradle him between my thighs, and he slides right in, filling me to perfection.

"Oh!" His face is a wonder. "You're so warm, so perfect."

He lies still on top of me, only his hips rocking ever so slightly as he kisses my lips. I run my hands up and down the large expanse of his back, and feeling daring, I move lower to gently massage his buttocks.

"Mmm, I like that."

He pushes his hands underneath me, and with a sudden roll, I end up on top with him holding onto my hips. I stare down at him, surprised.

"Sit up a little."

I shift my weight, acutely aware of how the angle of him changes inside of me. It feels good. For Edward, too, apparently.

"Wait, hold still, please."

He breathes deeply, tightening his hands around me for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry." He gives me a roguish smile. "You feel too good to me."

"You feel good to me too. I never imagined."

He reaches up to cup my cheek.

"I know. I'm so in love with you."

"Oh, Edward." Tears flood my eyes. "I love you."

He brushes them away, lifting up to kiss me gently at first but then more eagerly. His hands rock my hips, silently encouraging me to move, and when I do, our lips break apart as we both moan.

Edward lies back down, his gaze drawn to my breasts. They bounce with each careful movement I make, and he stares with his mouth hanging open, his hands tightening around me.

"Is it . . . am I doing it right?" I ask, hoping it feels as good for him as it does for me.

"God, yes." He groans, clenching his jaw. "Do you . . . like it?"

"I like it."

"Can you . . . should I?"

He cups my breasts, stroking my nipples.

"Just for you," I say. "Just for you."

He throws his head back, his skin glistening in the lamplight as all of his muscles tense.

"Oh, fuck! Faster!" he exclaims, grabbing my buttocks in his large hands. "Ride me, darling. So good!"

Using my thigh muscles, I do as he says; I ride him. Seeing him erupt in pleasure because of me is beyond thrilling, and listening to him chant my name as he finishes is everything. He is mine and I am his.

Afterward, we sit up in bed, and Edward practically attacks the food he brought up with him.

"You're hungry," I observe.

He grins at me.

"I was too nervous to eat downstairs before, and now I am famished. You've worn me out, wife."

I blush, giving him a shy smile. In the background the radio plays softly, and I sip my champagne, watching him eat.

"Edward?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Have you thought about what happens next?"

"Well . . ." He puts the tray on the table and lies back against the pillows, reaching for me. "I thought I'd let this food settle a bit and then make love to you again."

I laugh softly, sinking down into his arms.

"No, I meant tomorrow, and the days after that."

"The future?"

"Our future."

"I like the sounds of that." He strokes my hair. "I don't know. I don't have much schooling, Isabella. You're an educated woman compared to me, and one of means too. I don't have anything, you see."

I sit up on my elbow to look at him.

"That's not true. You have me, and what's mine is yours. This farm is ours now. The real question is, though . . . would you be happy being a farmer?"

"I'd be happy doing anything as long as I'm with you. I mean that."

"And I feel the same."

"How do you see our future?" he asks, holding my hand against his chest.

"I thought I'd always live here," I whisper. "But now . . . Rose is leaving and . . . and part of me wishes I could go with her."

I don't miss the way Edward's eyes light up for a second.

"Why can't you?" he asks.

"I want to. But I can't bear the thought of selling my parents' property. It's been in my family for generations, Edward." My family. Something occurs to me suddenly. "Although . . ."

"Although what?" he asks.

"Michael is getting married next month. And he's still living with his parents."

Edward smiles.

"He'd probably like a place of his own. And he's family."

I grin.

"Yes, he is. But can he afford this place, I wonder?"

"You own it outright?"

" _We_ own it outright, yes," I correct him, making him grin.

"He could rent it. You know he'd take good care of the place and the animals."

"Yes, he would."

We look at each other.

"You know. Emmett has been telling me a lot about the city of Minneapolis. It sounds like a good place to live, and perhaps study too."

I smile at him.

"Has he now? Is it close to where he and Rose will set up their home?"

"Fairly close. Very accessible with a car of our own."

"Oh. We'll have a car, then?"

Edward pulls me down on top of him, his hands finding purchase on my backside.

"Certainly. How else would we transport the children?"

I grin.

"And how many children will we have, husband?"

"As many as you'll give me, wife." He rolls me over, kissing his way down my chest. "In fact, I think we should practice some more right now."

I stroke his head, and he gazes up at me, his green eye so filled with love it takes my breath away.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Should we give it a pass? I've been greedy with you, I know."

I shake my head, smiling.

"Everything is good. I'm so happy."

He gathers me in his embrace, kissing me tenderly.

"I love you, Isabella."

We kiss again, and I feel his body reacting, his very prominent erection pressing against my hip. His grin turns mischievous, and he looks just like he did when I first met him, only now he's not leaving. We'll be going away together to start a whole new life.

"I'm about to make you even happier, wife."

I laugh.

"I don't think that's possible."

"Well, I do like a challenge."

"As do I. Roll us over again."

Once he's on his back, I kiss his sweet mouth and move downward.

"Oh God. Are you going to . . .?"

His voice is rough with excitement.

"I'm about to make _you_ even happier, husband."

Minneapolis, May 2, 1947

Dear Michael,

I hope this letter finds you well. Edward and I have just celebrated our first anniversary as American citizens, and life is wonderful here in the land of opportunity. We have settled into a lovely little house on the outskirts of the city and made it a home. As it turns out, there are quite a few of our countrymen here, and would you believe I have been offered a teaching position because of it? Many of the new arrivals are in need of English lessons, and the ones who have lived here for generations are interested in learning Danish, so there is plenty for me to do. Edward is close to receiving his high school diploma, and afterward he wants to take business classes at the local college. The economy is booming, and we have plans to open up a little shop in our neighborhood once he has his degree. His parents were grocers back in England, and he wants to follow in their footsteps. I know he will be a very successful shopkeeper since he loves interacting with people, and everyone takes an immediate liking to him.

We see Rose and Emmett often. They have been married a year now, and Rose gave birth to a beautiful little girl named Vera last month. Both mother and child are doing well, and she sends her love.

I know in my last letter I'd talked about coming home for a visit this summer, but certain happy circumstances of our own prohibit us from traveling. Hopefully next year you will have three American visitors instead of two.

Give my love to everyone, and take care until we speak again.

Yours fondly,

Isabella Masen

The end

 **I hope you enjoyed this continuation. I just had to give them all happy endings and leave them in a good place before I could move on. I do admit I felt the slightest urge to write Rose's story, which is definitely a first for me since I've only ever written Edward and Bella before. I doubt I will, but it was pretty interesting to think about for a minute or two, LOL!**

 **Anyway. I hope you have a good day and that this made you smile. It certainly did that for me. Take care!**


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